


Red Smoke

by TheRedPalaaladin (Thighz)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood and Injury, Casual Sex, Crime, Crying During Sex, Detectives, Dom/sub Undertones, Drugs, Dubious Morality, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Boss!Keith, Murder, Praise Kink, Sensation Play, Switching, Undercover, Violence, dark themes, detective!shiro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-06-19 15:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15513069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/TheRedPalaaladin
Summary: My wish is that you may be loved to the point of madnessTakashi Shirogane is a good detective. A decorated officer.He will not succumb to Keith Kogane's twisted, underground world.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> _cracks knuckles_
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> This has been in the making for a good while. It's been outlined and chilling in my WIP Voltron folder and I'm finally fleshing it out.
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> This is based on [Lightningstrikes-art's](http://lightningstrikes-art.tumblr.com/) very gorgeous artwork featuring their 'Mafia Sheith AU'. There are some very dark themes in this. I've watched a lot of Criminal Minds and I'm putting all of that knowledge to good use.
> 
> Artwork can be found: [Here](http://lightningstrikes-art.tumblr.com/tagged/mafia-au)
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> Heed the tags. More will be added. I will do my best to put major tags at the beginning of certain chapters.
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> **Warning:** A lot of the themes and/or sexual aspects should not be performed unless you're experienced. Don't kill people. Be kind. Rewind.
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> **  
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> Without further ado,  
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> _Enjoy ___  
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> 

 

 

 

 

**One**

 

 

 

 

  
  


Rain falls in sheets against the earth, a symphony of cold and loud. Shiro can barely see a foot in front of his own face, the streetlights are blurry, the roads and sidewalks are already beginning to flood.

The chill soaks through his shirt, seeps into the soles of his shoes, puts a shiver in his bones.

But his eyes never leave the fluorescent overhang across the street. The entire club a beacon of red and white. Sultry women beckoning in the cold, wet passerby.

They’ve been waiting for over an hour. Shucked all other duties to focus on the gift wrapped tip that had been waiting on his desk when he arrived for his evening shift.

Keith Kogane would be here tonight.

Shiro’s been tracking him for  _ months _ .

The slippery asshole has managed to dodge their radar, smile his way through warrants, and micromanage the largest underground arms syndicate in history.

Keith is at the top of Shiro’s shitlist and tonight  _ will _ be the night he catches him.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Shiro can see his veiled officers, ready to cage any runners. But as far as any of them know, Keith should be alone tonight. No bodyguards, no workers, just himself.

A black, tinted car rolls up to the bright awning of the club.

Even through the rain, Shiro can see the vague outline of Kogane as he exits the vehicle and turns to wave his driver away.

“ _ Orders, Shirogane? _ ” Matt’s voice fizzles to life.

Shiro watches Kogane’s movements, relaxed around the nighttime girls and pounding fists with the bouncer at the door.

“Move in from the left.” Shiro mutters, pulling the gun from the holster strap under his jacket, “flush him to the right. Less water for me to sludge through. McClaine, if you catch him, keep him down, he  _ will _ fight back.”

“He’s not getting away this time.” Lance huffs from his position near a 24 hour coffee shop.

“We say that every time.” Matt pipes in cheerfully.

“We will.” Allura hisses from where she stands in line for the club itself, silver hair hidden by a dark wig.

Shiro can see the bouncer getting ready to allow Kogane in ahead of the line, “Move in, Allura. Now.”

He can see her shoving through the patrons waiting in the rain, pulling the gun from her decoy purse and shouting, “Kogane, freeze! Police!”

Kogane whips around as the crowd parts and gasps and shouts. He takes one look at Allura before bolting over the line divider and skidding through the rainwater.

Shiro makes a break for it, rain soaking him in seconds. He can make out Lance sprinting around an alley corner, Allura and Matt close behind.

His boots slash and slide along the flooded route, cold water stinging his face, but never losing sight of Kogane’s blue jacket whipping with every turn.

“Stop or we’ll shoot!” Lance shouts.

“We need him alive!” Allura hisses.

Kogane skids to the right and grabs two metal trash cans. He yanks them down and keeps on running.

Through the rain, Allura and Lance don’t make it over them in time. Shiro vaults over, nearly losing his footing in the muddy wreck of a back alley. He’s close to nipping at Kogane’s heels the further inward they travel.

Kogane’s arms are pumping, clothing worn down by rain and hair plastered to the back of his neck.

A fenceline looms ahead and Shiro knows without a doubt that Kogane can clear it. He picks up the pace, heart rate climbing and lungs burning from the cold.

Kogane reaches the fence first and leaps up, agile and fast. It’d be damn impressive if he wasn’t a criminal.

Shiro leaps up too, using his prosthetic arm to hold the weight of the climb.

Kogane hits the ground in a rush of water. Shiro drops down a second after him.

Shiro is only half-expecting the punch to his gut. He’s already braced from the fall, so it only winds him a little.

Kogane lashes out at him like an angry cat. He fights dirty, hitting all of Shiro’s low spots and leaving a bruise across the right side of his face.

Shiro gets his own hits in, trying to wrestle him to the ground and get the handcuffs in place. He doesn’t bother with his gun, it’s been in the holster since he cleared the distracting trash cans.

Kogane snarls and a knife glints as it exits some unknown location from his person.

Shiro uses the metal of his arm as a shield and the knife skids and sparks against the surface.

He grabs the wrist holding the knife and breaks the tight hold. The knife clatters to the ground with a splash and Shiro spins Kogane around, shoving him face first into a brick wall.

“Keith Kogane.” Shiro growls.

Kogane turns to face him, cheek red and bleeding, squished up against wet brick. His eyes are violet under the harsh fluorescent lights bleeding in from the streets and the smirk on his face doesn’t sit well in Shiro’s stomach.

“Takashi Shirogane.” Kogane mutters, rainwater falling of his lips, “We meet again.”

“You have the right to remain silent.” Shiro snarls, shoving him harder into the brick, “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”

“Oh shit you caught him.” Lance’s voice carries over the rain as Shiro finishes reading Kogane his miranda rights.

“I have Matt bringing the car around.” Allura shouts from their side of the fence, “You’re going away for a long time, Kogane.”

Shiro watches Kogane’s free cheek twitch, smirk knowing in the darkness, “If you say so.”

Shiro doesn’t like that one bit.

  
  
  


-

 

 

 

The precinct is warm and smells of palmolive and fresh coffee.

A cup of said coffee is steaming in a mug on his desk when he comes back from a much-needed shower. His clothes are dry and he’s fixing his tie with one hand and picking the mug up with the other.

He’s halfway to finishing Allura’s really bad attempt at coffee when he spots Kolivan curling two fingers in a ‘come here’ motion through the glass of his office window.

Shiro groans inwardly and sets his mug back on his desk.

“Shut the door.” Kolivan orders the moment he steps into the spacious office.

Shiro does as he’s told and watches as Kolivan flicks the blinds shut a moment after the lock clicks into place.

“Sir?” He hedges carefully.

Kolivan sets his arms behind his back, features stern and tense, “I’ve received word from the FBI.”

Shiro’s stomach drops, “No.”

“I’m afraid so. They wish to take Kogane into custody under their jurisdiction.”

Shiro takes in a careful, measured breath, “How much time until they arrive?”

Kolivan glances at the clock on his wall, “An hour. Maybe less. Get what you can out of him, Shirogane.”

“Yes sir.” Shiro nods sharply.

He exits the office quickly, snatches his mug and case files from his desk and skirts around towards the interrogation rooms.

Allura is at her desk, Lance leaning along the edge of it, both holding coffee and speaking in low tones. Matt rounds the corner from the showers, towel around his neck and looking surprised when he spots Shiro.

“Shiro, are you going to talk to him  _ now _ ?”

Shiro breezes right past him, “Now or never. The feds are coming.”

“What the f -.” Matt curses, “I’ll get my stuff!”

“Record the entire session.” Shiro orders over his shoulder.

“Always, boss.” Matt replies.

Shiro steps into interrogation room 3 and a guard startles from his chair, looking guilty and half asleep.

Kogane is in the room beyond, handcuffed to the table, clothes still soaked and chin resting in his gloved hands.

Shiro mentally braces himself and unlocks the door with his thumb. It beeps and hisses open.

The room is warm, a heater whirling above them and no doubt keeping the criminal from catching his death. (Something Shiro isn’t really concerned with, given Kogane’s record.)

He rounds the edge of the metal table, sets his coffee and files down in front of Kogane.

A curious gaze flicks up to meet Shiro’s, another smirk pulling at the edge of that defiant mouth, “I figured you’d let me stew in here for a few hours.”

“I’m on a schedule and you’re not the most important thing around here.” Shiro plays nonchalant and picks up the top case file.

Kogane’s chair creaks as he leans forward, cuffs jingling across the metal surface of the table, “We both know that’s not true, Shiro.”

Shiro’s fingers tighten for a split second around his paperwork before he pulls two crisp crime scene photos from its depths. He sets both of them on the table, two fingers pushing them in Kogane’s direction.

There’s a woman in each photo, both barely recognizable and covered with blood and bullet holes. Shiro remembers the exact crime scenes vividly; he was called in for each of them.

Kogane’s brows furrow as he looks down at the pictures, “Who are they?”

“You tell me.” Shiro crosses both arms over his chest, “Your weapons are they reason they’re dead.”

A dark eyebrow goes up, “What weapons?”

Shiro grits his teeth, “We aren’t stupid.” He points a finger at one of the girls, “You sold illegal weapons to  _ someone _ who turned around and murdered these women in  _ your _ name.”

Kogane shrugs, “Think you have the wrong guy.”

“Confessing would make this a hell of a lot easier, Kogane.”

“Please.” Kogane leans into one of his elbows, looking far too comfortable despite his wet clothes and bruising cheekbones, “Call me Keith.”

“I don’t get personal with people I’m sending to prison.” Shiro sneers.

“Shame.” Keith murmurs.

“Your brand is all over this crime scene.” Shiro says, “If none of your people did it, who did?”

Keith’s eyes move from the photo, to Shiro and back again, “I imagine the leader of such a massive business venture would already be investigating something like this.”

“Are you?” Shiro asks.

“Am I what?” Keith asks innocently.

Patience running thin, Shiro takes in a slow breath, “I have you for three counts of illegal weapons dealing. On camera. Your prints were on the scene. The club you went to tonight? Being completely torn apart. We _ will _ find more.”

Keith hums now, “So. You win?” He waves a cuffed hand in a bored motion, “What do you get, Shirogane, a prize? A promotion? The weapons will just be sold by someone else and someone else and someone else.”

“And what -.” Shiro laughs, “They’re safer in  _ your _ hands?”

Keith scoffs, “Do you  _ know _ how powerful I am?”

“Not powerful enough.” A rap on the glass is a signal from Matt, “Besides. It’s out of my hands now.” He gathers up his stuff, “Feds are taking this over.”

Keith’s back goes ramrod straight, “Seriously?”

“You sell your weapons all over the country, are you really surprised?” Shiro unlocks the door again and it whooshes open to reveal three federal agents, “He’s all your boys.”

  
  


 

-

  
  


 

They at least allow him to watch the interrogation.

Shiro keeps his arms crossed tight over his chest, fingers fiddling with the shoulder holster in a fit of nervous habit.

Keith is refusing to even acknowledge them. Gone is that cocky, self-assured attitude and quick smirk. His arms are crossed on the table and he’s not even looking the agents in the eyes as they question him.

“Maybe he just likes you.” Matt chuckles.

Shiro startles at that, sending him a disapproving look, “He doesn’t  _ like  _ anyone.”

“Sure.” Matt mutters, “And now he’s a clamming up like a startled fish because - what?”

Shiro looks back through the glass.

“Kogane, we have you dead to rights.” One of the agents hisses, “You can’t weasel your way out of this anymore. You’re looking at a lifetime in prison.”

“Then why are you still fucking yammering on?” Keith snorts.

“Because we’re here to offer you a deal.” The same agent pulls out a stack of papers, “Half of a normal sentence for illegal weapons sales, all other past infractions null.”

“ _ What - _ ” Shiro and Matt shout.

Keith barks out a laugh, sudden and sharp, “For what?  _ Information _ ?”

“More than that.” Another agent steps up, “We send an agent in with you. Undercover. You will expose every hole, every rat, every level of mafia hierarchy and in exchange, complete freedom in 20 years.”

“That’s bullshit.” Keith snaps.

“Read through it yourself.” The agent waves his hand.

Keith reaches across the table and takes the papers. The pages rustles as he reads, creasing under the pressure of his fingers.

“Agent Zachary Smith?” He mumbles, “That’s original.”

“Best undercover agent we have.” They sound proud.

Shiro can’t see Keith’s face as he looks up and tosses the packet across the table, but he knows it’s a mix of irritated and smug, “No dice.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I’m not working with some dick-for-brains agent I don’t know.” Keith snaps, “If you want me to do this, I get to pick who it is.”

“No.” They slash out a hand, “Not going to happen. This entire shit fuck of a case is under  _ our _ jurisdiction now. These murders are top priority and we want  _ our _ people on the inside.”

“Not my problem.” Keith shuffles his shoulders, “I want Takashi Shirogane to go under. It’s him or no deal.”

“ _ You _ don’t get to make demands.” The third agent snarls.

“It’s him or I go to jail and you get nothing.” Keith leans back in his chair again.

Matt snickers and takes a long sip of his coffee, “Told you he liked you.”

Shiro’s arm loosen the tight old around his torso. He peers at the back of Keith’s head, where it bobs in a familiar cocky motion to the left. He can never tell what Keith is thinking, even when he has the man cornered perfectly.

There’s no telling what he’s up to now.

“Shirogane isn’t a federal agent and he’s no longer assigned to your case.” The first agent sniffs derisively.

“Something you can no doubt change.” Keith waves with one hand at the pack of papers, “By putting his name on those papers.”

All three of them grow quiet, glaring down at Keith, fists clenching and tell signs of physical confrontation brewing. However, Keith doesn’t look scared. Not in the sharp line of his shoulders or the way he leans in on his elbows, chin tilted up to stare at the agent's in front of him.

“How bad do you need my info, boys?” Keith asks, “Or can you sniff out my carefully guarded sources all by yourselves?”

The first agent grinds his teeth and snatches the papers up, “What if Shirogane doesn’t want to work with you?”

“Oh.” Keith finally looks over his shoulder. Shiro’s stomach swoops with an unknown emotion as those eyes find his right on the mark, “He will.”

  
  
  


 

-

  
  


 

“I do not like this.” Allura whispers, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as Shiro packs up his desk.

“I think it’s cool.” Lance shrugs, “We never get to go undercover anymore.”

Shiro begins the official ‘wipe-down’ of his desk as they talk amongst themselves. He hates to see his whole life so barren. Just a computer and a keyboard and a mouse now that his various case files and stacks of evidence papers are divided between Allura, Lance, and Matt.

His fingers drift over the box filled with his things. Two coffee mugs, a sweater he pulled from the depths of a drawer, but not much else. No photographs like Lance, no lion figurines like Allura, not a happy picture of his sibling like Matt.

“The feds look  _ super _ happy that you get to do this.” Matt mutters darkly from his desk.

“Doesn’t look like that have much of a choice.” Lance snickers, “It is nice to see them knocked down a peg.”

“I’m not looking to knock anyone down a peg.” Shiro mutters, hefting the box under his arm.

He goes down to the bottom floor to put his things in the backseat of his car and when he gets back inside the precinct, the agents are waiting near the interrogation entrance. One of them is holding a stack of manila folders, the other two are talking, hands waving irritably, faces scrunched up in displeasure.

Shiro pats at his tie, hoping he looks somewhat presentable without his official jacket and the lack of badge on his belt.

“Detective Shirogane.” Agent with the files nods, “We’re fixing to release Kogane into your custody, are you clear on your orders?”

“Crystal.” Shiro takes the files as they’re handed to him, “No contact with the precinct, personal relations are off limits, I know how undercover works.”

The agent pulls a slim phone from his pocket, “This is a burner phone. Use it for any communications with us. It functions as a normal phone.”

Shiro turns it over his his flesh hand, before sliding it into his back pocket, “Anything else?”

“Kogane -.” The second agent grits his teeth, “Will be integrating you into his world. You will have the afternoon to get ready. We want reports daily.”

Shiro nods once and two of them walk past him. The last agent opens the interrogation room door and Keith steps out. He’s still in his wet clothes, but his hair is dry and he’s looking far too smug for someone who is still going to prison after this mess is over.

Keith rubs at his wrists, where the faint outline of the cuffs lingers on pale flesh, “Ready to learn how to be a criminal, Shiro?”

Shiro steps into his space and his shadow nearly swallows Keith whole. Keith doesn’t look the slightest bit intimidated. That infuriating smirk twitches back to life and sharp eyes give him a slow once-over before returning to his face.

“What are you getting out of this, Kogane?” Shiro lowers his voice to a growl.

Keith leans into his space, “I told you-.” A warm palm presses against his stomach, gliding up, up over the fabric of his button down until fingers curl into his tie, yanking him down until they’re breathing the same air, “To call me Keith.”

Shiro’s heart shudders and his stomach tightens. Keith smells like rainwater and smoky cologne, nearly invisible after their trek through the rain.

Keith releases the tie, fingers pushing Shiro out of his space. He tugs at one of his shoulder holsters, gaze focused as it flicks back up to Shiro’s, “We’ll get you ready at my place.” He pats against Shiro’s chest as he moves around his left side, “I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

Shiro swallows thickly as he stands in place, Keith’s scent still clogging his senses and stomach twisting with the unwelcome stirrings of lust.

He doesn’t notice the files have slipped from his hand until they hit the ground with a slap.

He bends down to gather them quickly, glancing around to make sure no one had to witness his sudden lack of dignity.

His team is hovering near the exit to the bullpen. Lance and Matt look as though they’re about to cry, Allura squeezes his shoulder as he arrives.

“Do be careful, Shiro.” She whispers, “Kogane can not be trusted.”

Shiro places a hand over her own and squeezes back, “I will.”

Lance gives him a weepy hug and Kolivan calls them to their posts.

Matt hovers behind, casting uncertain eyes towards Keith, who is being held at the elevators in wait for Shiro. He rummages around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a thin, black chip, “Gift from Pidge and Hunk upstairs.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow and takes the chip between his prosthetic fingers, “What is it?”

“It mimics the information on your new burner phone, giving you the ability to chat with our genius IT crew.” He rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture he shares with his sister, “Just in case you need us.”

Shiro smiles and pats Matt on the shoulder, “Tell Pidge I said ‘thanks’. I’m going to miss you guys.”

Matt turns serious for a moment, “Come back alive, Shiro. Don’t trust him.”

Shiro shakes his shoulder gently, “I know.”

“Bad things happen to cops who go native.”

“You know me, Matt.” Shiro presses, “And that’s not going to happen.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


 

The car ride to Keith’s house is a long one.

Shiro isn’t allowed to return to his apartment to get any personal items, so they stop off at a convenience store to get the bare necessities.

It’s no surprise that Keith lives in a high rise south of the center of the city. It looms over the river, mostly glass and metal.

Shiro notes it requires a key card to get inside. Keith waves him through the front doors and towards a massive elevator.

56 floors, all requiring a keycard and a passcode.

“This is your private residence.” Shiro glances over at him, “Why would you take me here?”

“Oh, I don’t know -.” The elevator lurches to life and Keith puts his card back inside his wallet, “Maybe because you’re a fucking  _ cop _ ?” He waves in Shiro’s general direction, “And you look like a cop. We need to fix that before you meet anyone.”

The elevator doors hiss open and Shiro nearly drops his box of stuff.

It opens into a foyer decorated in muted blues and beige. Then spills into a living area with plush dark fabric sofas, glass tables, a wall-to-wall window with sheer curtains and a balcony. The kitchen sits on the left, glistening chrome and granite countertops.

“Bedrooms are on the right.” Keith drags his attention to the right side of the floor, “You can take the spare. It has its own bathroom.”

Shiro follows him, feeling out of place in such a pristine environment, “This isn’t exactly your style.”

“It’s for show.” Keith supplies, flipping on a switch to aforementioned spare room. It’s modest, with a full-sized bed and blue sheets. There are no windows, just a bathroom on the left and a dresser on the right.

Shiro sets his box on the end of the bed.

“We’ll need to dye your hair.” Keith speaks up from behind him.

Shiro whips around, patting at his short, black hair, “What - No.”

“You have to look different. You have to act different. You can’t be a cop in my world.” Keith says, “I have some clothes you can borrow until we can buy you some different ones.” He waves Shiro forward and backs out of the room, “The dye is in my bathroom, come on.”

Shiro follows close behind, eyeing the last door at the end of the hallway, then back at Keith’s shoulders.

Keith’s bedroom looks considerably more lived in. A king-sized bed with maroon and white sheets, large windows with assorted potted greenery along the sill. There’s a spin board near the left hand wall, bare on the side facing them.

The bathroom is a tad bit larger, complete with a stand up stone shower and a tub.

Keith goes for a cabinet beside the tub, pulling out various fluffy towels and setting them on the toilet seat. He reaches inside, standing high on his toes.

Shiro eyes the skin of his hip bone, but only for a moment. Only because it was exposed and pale under the bathroom lighting.  _ Not _ because he was thinking about how it would taste under his tongue.

A second later, Keith is holding a box of hair dye. He smirks, “Ready?”

Shiro inhales sharply and lets it out in a rush, “As I’ll ever be.”

They do it over the edge of the bathtub. Shiro keeps his head near the faucet, arms crossed on the edge. His shirt is gone, tossed somewhere he’ll probably never see again.

_ No more cop clothes _ , Keith had insisted.

So here he is, naked from the waist up with a wanted criminal, his career catch, running thin, deft fingers through his hair as he washes the excess dye out.

Shiro hates how good it feels. It’s been years since anyone touched him outside of his team. And even then the touches were casual and friendly.

This is too intimate. Too close to sending goosebumps along his flesh and getting him bothered in places he  _ does not need _ to be bothered.

“Looks good to me.” A towel is placed around his shoulders, “Dry it, then get dressed. I put some clothes on the sink.”

He finds a hair dryer under the sink in his own bathroom, then spends twenty minutes staring at his reflection in the mirror as he buttons up a dark purple shirt.

Gone are his black locks, the hair he’s stared at his entire life. They’re replaced with a shocking shade of white, even his eyebrows have been dyed to match.

“You know, if you sleep with any of my people, we’ll have to dye the carpet.” Keith’s voice is light and teasing.

Shiro turns just as he’s slipping his tie into place, face flushing at the insinuation, “I don’t fraternize with the enemy.”

Keith chuckles and leans into the door frame. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and there’s a washcloth in his hands, drying off the lingering water from the dye process.

“White hair suits you, Shiro. Can’t even tell you’re a cop.”

Shiro hardens his gaze, “Don’t get used to it. I want this over quickly.”

Keith crosses his arms over his chest, towel dangling from his fingers, “I don’t think you realize how large my business is.”

Shiro clenches his fist, “Then why are you willing to give it up so easily?”

“What choice do I have?” Keith asks, pushing away from the frame and stepping into the bathroom, “A lifetime in prison doesn’t sound all that awesome.”

“Right.” Shiro turns to face him fully, “You never give up easily, Kogane. I’ve been after you for too long.”

“And that means you know me?” Keith laughs dryly.

“You have ulterior motives.” Shiro points a finger at him, “I know it.”

Keith smirks, “Wouldn’t be much fun if I didn’t, now would it?”

“Question is -.” Shiro steps closer to him, cheers inwardly when Keith almost takes a hesitant step back, “Why go to such lengths to complete them? Why get caught?”

“I’m an enigma.” Keith shrugs.

“You’re a criminal.” Shiro shoves a finger into his chest, “That’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“You got me there.” Keith admits snidely, “Let’s see if you can figure it all out before I get to my end game, shall we?” He steps back and away, “Finish getting ready. We need to go over your cover story.”

Shiro watches him walk away.

He hates the dread that pools in his stomach.

But there’s no turning back now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, wow, the reception of this is pretty awesome? I can't wait for ya'll to watch the rest of the plot unfold! Lotta angst and twists and turns and emotions.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, lotta introductions and information.
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy_

 

 

 

**Two**

 

 

 

  
  
  


Shiro brings the case files with him when he joins Keith in the living area. The glass coffee table looks like a great place to set up, so he spreads the manila folders out in order of occurrence. He opens each one up, putting the crime scene photos on display.

Keith skirts the edge of the table a few minutes later, a stack of folders under his own arm and a glass of brown liquor in each hand.

Shiro spares them half a glance before returning to his organization, “I don’t drink on the job.”

“That’s cool. They’re both for me anyway.” Keith sets the glasses near the edge of the table, then places his folders down next.

He takes a seat on the couch opposite Shiro and rests his bare forearms over the edge of his knees.

“What’s in your folders?” Shiro asks once he’s satisfied with the timeline arrangement laid out on the table.

Keith taps the top of his stack, “Allies. Enemies. Spies.” He points at Shiro’s menagerie of folders, “You really going to work a murder  _ and  _ snuff out my people?”

“What better way to solve the murders than by being on the inside?” Shiro asks patiently, “Obviously these women were hunted down for a reason. There’s a pattern to these attacks.”

“I know.” Keith replies.

Shiro looks up, “You know.”

Keith tilts his head, “I told you that I was already looking into them.”

“That’s not  _ your _ job.” Shiro scowls.

“It’s  _ my _ weapons they’re using and  _ my _ brand burned into their flesh.” Keith snaps, “I’ll damn well make it my job.”

Shiro eyes him skeptically for a long moment before twisting a few of the photographs upside down, “Do you know any of them?”

Keith goes quiet, eyes scanning the six women, “I know all of them.”

“ _ What _ ?” Shiro startles at the reply, “How?”

Keith sighs heavily and steples his fingers together under his chin, “They’re the wives and daughters of my ranking sellers.”

Shiro moves a finger across the length of table, “You know every single one of these women?”

Keith nods, “No next of kin listed? No addresses? All ‘jane doe’s’.” He picks up one of the pictures and flips it around. A brunette, olive skin, couldn’t have been older than 20, “Selena Ortiz. Oldest daughter. Photographer for her college newspaper.”

Shiro lets out a whoosh of air, “How do you make them invisible? How are we supposed to find the ones responsible if you’ve erased them from the world?”

“Erasing them keeps them safe.” Keith sets the photo back in its former place, “And these things are usually kept out of police hands. We handle them ourselves.”

Shiro puts his face in his hands and tries not to scream, “You can’t just take the goddamn law into your own hands.”

“The law’s never been there for me.” Keith scoffs, “I don’t need to rely on it when it comes to my own fucking people.”

Shiro drags his hands down to his neck and gives Keith a once over. He’s still staring down at the pictures, squinting and tilting his head to get better looks at them.

What a mess.

“This is all you have?” Keith asks suddenly.

Shiro frowns, “Yes.”

Keith doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he picks up his own folders and lays them out. Each one holds a photo, be it normal or mug shot, with various papers clipped to them.

“These are the names and faces you need to memorize.” Keith sets the first folder on top of the crime scenes, “They control suppliers in specific locations and keep track of the mules.”

Shiro flips through the different people. Men, women, all different races, no familial connections between any of them, besides offspring and marriages.

“Your faction isn’t -.” Shiro pauses, “Bloodline based.”

“You mean I didn’t inherit it from my parents?” Keith asks airily, “No. I built my empire from the ground.”

Impressive. Morally wrong and completely corrupted, but impressive.

It’s a well known fact that mobsters, mafia, yakuza, their bosses are handed down through bloodlines. Rarely is an outsider allowed in a position of power.

“Will I be seeing these people on a regular basis?” Shiro asks.

“Every day just about.” Keith replies, “I don’t sit on my throne and wait for people to come to me. I go to them.”

Shiro grips the files tight, “I could easily send all of this to the FBI. I could shut this all down right now.”

“You could.” Keith agrees, eyes dark and knowing across the table, “But you won’t, because you need the murderer found first.” He grabs the second folder and opens it, “These are the other factions and their heads.”

Shiro leans forward, “How many are there?”

“Just two.” Keith says, “The Galra and the Alts.”

“The Galra I know. Drug distribution.” Shiro squints, picking up a blurry capture of a cloaked woman with white hair, “Zarkon is the head, but he’s just as elusive as you.”

“Wrong.” Keith slaps his finger above the woman in the picture Shiro holds, “Zarkon is a figure head. He’s there to look the part, but not act it. Haggar runs everything from the shadows.”

“Who is Haggar?” Shiro asks.

“Zarkon’s wife.” Keith answers, “But that’s pretty much all we know about her. He keeps her well hidden.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, “Then how do you know she runs the show?”

Keith smirks, “I may or may not have someone on the inside.”

Shiro watches him pick through the Galra files until he reaches a second set of papers. This one with a newspaper clipping attached to the top reading ‘ _Lead_ _Scientist for Altean Enterprises builds successful AI_ ’. A bright-haired woman and a white-haired man stand side by side in the picture, both wearing a creepy smile.

“Wait -.” Shiro hesitates, “Altean Enterprises runs a  _ mob _ ?”

Keith snorts, “The entire organization is mafia with a very convincing cover up. Hira runs both company and gang.” He points at the woman, “And this guy doesn’t have a known name. But he inspects and approves all distribution.”

“ _ What _ do they distribute?” Shiro hisses, “Weapons, Drugs?”

“Technology.” Keith replies.

“That’s not a bad thing.” Shiro shakes the papers at him, “It’s their entire business. They provide equipment for the military, the police departments - the -.” He trails off as a knowing smirk crosses Keith’s face, “The mafia.”

“Anything you have?” Keith spreads his hands, “We have the better of it.”

“Which is how you’re always one step ahead of us.” Shiro throws the papers onto the table with a disgusted sound, “Fuck.”

“To be fair,” Keith begins, “You’re good at your job. I’ve been running this since I was seventeen. The FBI have been after me for nine years. You’ve only been assigned my case for one. Look where you are now.”

“This isn't a game, Keith.” Shiro snaps, “You’re going to  _ jail _ .”

“I’m aware, thanks.” Keith leans back into the couch, “Take the compliment and chill.”

Shiro grunts and scans the many open and closed folders, “How exactly are you wanting to play this?”

“The murders are priority.” Keith raises a finger, “Or so the FBI told  _ me _ .”

“Find the murderer. Release names, addresses, and distribution routes for your entire network.” Shiro says, ticking off his metal fingers with each item.

“That’s a lot.” Keith hums, “I could just give it all to you now.”

“Over half the information would be a lie.” Shiro grouses.

Keith smirks again, “Now you’re getting it.”

Shiro scowls at him, “Then we do this the hard way. I’m going to need to speak with all the deceased women’s families.”

“Not with that attitude.” Keith mutters, “You can’t just walk in and demand information. We don’t trust easily. They’ll suspect you right away. I have to  _ integrate  _ you.”

“How?” Shiro demands irritably, “We don’t have that kind of time.”

“The closer you are to me, the better your chances.” Keith informs, “I’m bringing you in as my bodyguard, ‘Jiro’.”

“ _ Jiro _ ?” Shiro asks in exasperation, “Is anyone really going to believe  _ you _ need a bodyguard?”

Keith stares at him for a second and then laughs.

It startles him, because Keith is sarcastic and cocky and an asshole, but Shiro’s never seen him laugh. Not out right. Not like he’s genuinely delighted by what was said.

Shiro swallows thickly, “Seriously.”

Keith’s laugh peters off and he stands, “Bodyguard is the only way I can keep you near me at all times without arousing suspicion.”

“Really? Not private detective? Not consultant?” Shiro subconsciously scooches further away when he sees Keith skirting the edge of the table once more.

He stops at Shiro’s side, one hand stuffed half in the pocket of his pants and the other reaching out to tip Shiro’s chin up with a finger, “You could always be my wife.” The finger turns to a knuckle that glides down the length of Shiro’s throat, over the rise of his adams apple and down to his collarbone.

Shiro jerks away as though burned, goosebumps rising on his flesh arm and the skin of his throat tingling with that light touch, “No thanks.”

“Shame.” Keith murmurs, “You’d make a good wife.” He steps back, points down at his files, “I suggest you start memorizing.”

Shiro nods mutley and casts his eyes back to the table.

Keith’s footsteps retreat down the hall and Shiro eyes the last glass of brown liquor with a renewed interest.

He chugs it in one go.

  
  
  


-

  
  


 

He doesn’t sleep.

Keith’s house is too quiet, too shiny, too completely at odds with where he’s been living the last five years of his life.

There’s no creaking ceiling fan whirling above his bed, no sputtering air conditioner sitting in the windowsill. The sheets are too soft and the bed’s too soft and every sound makes him sit up straight and put a hand on the gun under his pillow.

He’s half expecting Keith to just shoot him in his sleep.

But the digital clock on the bed stand just flicks from midnight to two to four to six.

Shiro takes a cold shower, hoping it will wake him up a little. When he gets out, there’s a set of clothes on the edge of his bed and the smell of coffee coming through the crack in his door.

He dresses quickly, frowning at the perfect cut of the shirt, the holster for his gun, and the jacket. He smoothes a hand down the front of it as he examines himself in the mirror.

Keith was right.

He doesn’t look the same at all.

The hair color aged him and sharpened his features. He runs his fingers through it a few times, tries to make it stay in one spot.  It’s a lost cause and he ends up just leaving it the way it is and exiting the bedroom.

In the living area, the first thing he notices is files are missing from the table and panic sets in like hot acid. 

Did Keith hide them? Did he destroy them?

A throat clears from the kitchen area and Shiro turns quickly.

“Who is this?”

A woman is standing the kitchen with Keith. She’s shorter than the man by a few inches, but no less intimidating in her stature. Hair a vibrant shade of blonde and braided perfectly down the length of her back. She’s dressed in a pale shade of purple, skirt flowing to her ankles and blouse ruffled to her wrists.

“I got a bodyguard.” Keith grunts, sipping at his coffee. He’s dressed up as well, red button down shirt and fingerless gloves, perfectly tailored slacks and shiny loafers.

The woman blinks, eyeing Shiro up and down, “Whatever would you need a bodyguard for?”

“This guy is killing our people.” Keith says, “It’s obvious who they’re really after and I can’t fix it if I’m dead so -.” He waves vaguely at Shiro.

She sniffs, “Well, thanks for telling me.”

Keith rolls his eyes, “Jiro, this is Romelle. Romelle, Jiro.”

Shiro mentally scours through the hours of papers he flipped through the night before. He remembers her face after a half a second. The mafia equivalent of a PR representative.

“Of course.” He puts a polite hand out towards her.

She releases the mug of coffee with one of her hands and allows him to shake it quickly. A firm, suspicious grip welcomes him and tightens for a split second. Just long enough for him to get the jist of her warning.

She doesn’t trust him and that’s to be expected.

Shiro gives her a warm smile anyhow and meanders towards the coffee pot and prays he opens the right cabinet for a cup.

He does.

“You’ve always handled yourself perfectly well before.” Romelle speaks frankly.

“Yea, but I didn’t have a madman murdering our own at the time either.” Keith sets his mug down with a sharp sound, “Is there a reason you’re here this early, Romelle?”

Shiro turns to pour a cup and watches her sniff slightly, “So suspicious.”

“Very few people know where this place is and they’re smart enough to stay away unless it’s an emergency.” There’s a warning in Keith’s tone.

She pats him on the chest, “Calm down. I came to check on you. Narti said you’d been chased by the cops outside of Arus.”

“I was.” Keith snorts, “But they never catch me and you know it.”

“Hmmm.” She stares down into her cup.

Shiro notes she’s barely drunk half. He takes a slow sip of his own, marvels at the thick, rich flavour. He almost makes a sound about how good it is, but he knows he has to act as though he’s been here longer than one night.

“Why were you hiding him from us?” She nods at Shiro.

Keith shrugs one shoulder, “Trial run.”

“And if he had killed you during it?” She hisses, slamming her mug besides Keith’s on the counter, “You can’t -  _ we _ can’t trust outsiders right now.”

“It was my suggestion.” Shiro interrupts, “I felt it necessary to become familiar with his routines.”

She sneers, “And why were you not with him at Arus?”

Keith steps between them, eyes narrowed, “I requested to be alone.”

“Keith-.” Romelle raises both of her hands to cup his face, “We can not afford to lose you. You  _ must _ be more careful.”

“I’m always careful.” Keith mutters, placing his hands over her own and pulling them away, “What I need is for everyone else to up their guard they way I have. We’ve lost six in the span of months.”

“I know.” She whispers, “And that’s not counting the losses on the Altean side.”

Shiro nearly sputters through a sip of coffee.

Keith beats him to the question, “The Alteans have lost people too?”

Romelle bites her into her bottom lip, “We suspect that the same person killing our people are targeting the other factions as well.”

“And when I was I going to be told?” Keith hisses.

“Acxa wanted to wait until the next meeting.” Romelle frowns.

“Are they branding the Altean victims?” Shiro asks quietly, brows furrowed and dread building like acid in his esophagus.

Romelle sends him a look, but nods, “We really should see Acxa before we discuss this any further.” She places a hand on Keith’s bicep, “Do you wish for me to call a gathering?”

Keith puts a hand to his forehead and sighs, “Do it.”

  
  
  


 

-

  
  
  


 

The ‘gathering’ takes place at Korean bbq restaurant on the north end of the city. It’s tiny, out of the way of any heavy foot traffic and smells delightful even while they wait inside the car.

Keith nudges Shiro’s arm, “You’ll get out first. Pretend you’re keeping watch or some fucking nonsense like that.” He nods towards the front door, where Romelle is waiting, cellphone in hand, “Play it up for her.”

Shiro nods once and pops the latch on the door.

He scans the perimeter, all exits and entrance ways within line of sight. Then, he eyeballs the surrounding parked cars for any lingering passengers. He can feel Romelle’s eyes on him, can smell the food, the hot asphalt of the road.

He knocks twice on the window of the car and Keith exits, pulling the lapels of his jacket straight as he stands at full height.

Romelle waves at them as they approach, “Everyone’s waiting inside.”

“Good.” Keith responds tightly, “Jiro, walk the restaurant and then meet us in the back.”

Shiro inclines his head, irritation rising at being ordered around, “Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t miss the twitch of a smirk at the corner of Keith’s mouth.

Cocky little -

The inside of the restaurant smells richer than the outside and Shiro’s stomach grumbles at the prospect of food. He’s only had coffee since lunch at the station the day before.

An old woman greets the three of them, “They wait.” She waves to the far left where a door sits half-closed and a curtain pulled across the wall.

“I’ll be there shortly.” Shiro takes a short walk around the restaurant. It’s small, with cozy tables meant for large parties and a kitchen bustling with people doing various prep work. A few greet him with jovial hellos and others eye him suspiciously, gaze wandering to the gun holstered behind his jacket.

When he returns to the room, Keith is standing at the head of a long table. Romelle and two other women sit on his left and a tall, white-haired man sits on his right.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the women stands up fast, hand going to her left side, no doubt to grab a gun.

Shiro moves for his own just as fast.

Keith slaps out a hand, “Stop.”

“This is  _ private _ meeting.” The woman hisses, eyes narrowed over the rise of her pistol.

“One that he’s invited to.” Keith snarls, “Put it away, Axca.”

The man lifts an elegant brow, “Did you get yourself a plaything?”

“A bodyguard.” Keith says irritably, “Axca. Sit down.”

Axca does so reluctantly, eyes still narrowed at Shiro. Romelle looks a bit too pleased with herself and the other woman hasn’t moved a muscle since he stepped in.

“This is Jiro.” Keith motions to Shiro across the table, “Jiro, meet Lotor -.” He waves to the man, “Axca, Narti, and you’ve met Romelle.”

“Where did you pick him up and does he have a brother?” Lotor grins laviously as Shiro takes up post a little ways behind Keith.

“He’s alone.” Keith replies, “Just like we were.”

Shiro doesn’t need to be a detective to hear the bitterness under Keith’s serious tone. It’s a familiar sting, being alone most of your life.

Is that why Keith singled him out for this?

Because he knew Shiro has nothing to lose if it all goes south?

“Let’s start with the most obvious question here -.” Keith begins, crossing both arms over his chest, “Why wasn’t I informed of the Altean murders?”

“Because the cops haven’t caught on to them just yet.” Lotor replies smoothly, “It seems the branding on their bodies can only be seen under ultraviolet light, whereas your people have burns.”

“Why?” Axca hisses, “Why use two different types of branding?”

“To keep the cops off their scent.” Shiro blurts out.

He winces as all heads turn to him.

“Bodyguards are silent.” Romelle says icily.

“No no.” Lotor waves a loose hand in her direction, “Keith wouldn’t hire a  _ silent _ partner to protect him during such hard times.”

“He’s right.” Keith shoots Shiro a smile before he turns back to his people, “It keeps the murders separated.”

“And makes it look as though only  _ one _ faction is being taken down. Instead of two.” Shiro inhales sharply, “They’re targeting each faction separately.”

“On their own terms.” Keith mutters, “How many have your side lost?” He turns his gaze to Lotor.

Lotor shrugs, “Two as far as I’ve been informed, but no branding.”

“They must be working as a group.” Axca taps a finger on the top of the table, “There’s no way they can pull off a culling spree this large with only one person.”

“But why are they targeting family?” Romelle asks, “Why the wives and daughters?”

“It’s a scare tactic.” Keith replies, “To bring us out of hiding and seek revenge.”

“Isn’t that what we should be doing?” Lotor insists, “They're killing our people.”

“We’re no use to our people dead.” Keith points at him, “Keep your hero complex out of this fight.”

Lotor sneers out a haughty, “Yes,  _ sir _ .”

Shiro watches them debate from his position behind Keith. They go back and forth, voices falling and rising with every suggestion. It’s a remembered thing. They’ve done this countless times, Keith has had them at call for longer than Shiro’s had a  _ relationship _ .

He is - oddly intrigued by the familiarity and ease in which they come to decisions.

Keith and his elusive world always fascinated him to the point of obsession. He’d made it his life goal to bring Keith in to face justice, for breaking the law, for thinking he was  _ above _ it somehow. But here, in this room, Keith is power and authority and protectiveness over his extensive empire.

Respect tingles at the back of his mind. It lingers and eats away at him even though he knows he can’t let it.

He can’t allow himself to make Keith human.

“Lotor -,” Keith’s voice is firm, “I want all information you have for the attacks on the Galra. Witnesses. Branding. How they were killed and with what.”

Lotor nods once.

“Axca, Narti, find out what you can on the Altean murders.”

Both women incline their heads.

“Romelle, your job is to shut down heavy traffic routes.” Keith presses a finger to the top of the table, “We mule in condensed areas and I want that cleared until we know what we’re dealing with.”

She nods, “I will send you an updated route map when I’m done. Should I inform the caravans or would you like to?”

“For now, you do it. If they question anything, contact me.” He waves a hand, “Dismissed.”

Shiro doesn’t move as they filter out, talking amongst themselves as they go. Keith stays at the end of the table, fists curled on the surface as he leans inward.

“What will we do?” Shiro asks.

“We -.” Keith turns his head to face him, “Are going to have a little chat with Hira.”

Shiro frowns, “Is that wise?”

“No.” Keith heads for the door, “But you’ll find out that half of what I do is unwise.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outline tree I have for this AU is extensive and intricate. I'm having to re-read chapters 20 or so times just to make sure I don't leave any plot holes BUT if for any reason you see a hole in any future chapters be like 'hey. check your tree'
> 
> Thank you for the support, comments, and kudos!


	3. Three

 

 

 

**Three**

 

 

 

 

 

“How did you know what size to get me?” Shiro smooths a hand down the lapels of his vest as the car nears their destination.

Keith glances up from his cellphone, “Dated a guy big as you once.” He flicks his thumb across the screen, “You looked about the same and I outfitted him on the regular, so I had my tailor line up some duds.”

Shiro’s metal fingers spasm.

He tries desperately not to imagine small, lean Keith Kogane arching seductively under a man Shiro’s own size.

He fails.

“I don’t wear suits often.” Shiro mumbles, “It’s not required in my line of work.”

“You mean you don’t have to look a million bucks to chase drug lords all over the west coast?” Keith feigned surprise.

Shiro scowls at him, “You’d make my job a hell of a lot easier if you  _ didn’t _ run.”

Keith winks, “Gotta keep you in shape, old timer.” And his gaze returns to his phone before he can see the flush spread across Shiro’s nose.

“I’m not that old.” He glances out the window.

The car comes to a slow halt and Shiro frowns, “Why are we in an alley?”

Keith slips his phone into a hidden pocket within the front of his suit jacket and pops the latch on the door, “We’re going to talk to Hira.”

Shiro follows him out of the car.

The alley smells like stale rainwater and trash. He wrinkles his nose as he glances around, examining the two entry points and a lone metal door to their left.

“Does Altean Enterprises not have a front door?” Shiro asks skeptically.

Keith chuckles and taps six times in a separate beat on the door, “They do.”

“And we’re taking the back way in because -,” Shiro squints, “You’re such good friends with her?”

A latch clicks from within, “I said we were going to talk to her. I didn’t say how we were going to do it.”

“So breaking and entering.” Shiro sighs towards the sky, “I’ll just add this to your record, shall I?”

“Altean security is state of the art, Shiro.” Another latch clicks, then three more, “I can’t just walk through the front door. Hira and I have an understanding. Neither of us want to be tagged with the other. Keeps her end clean and my end from landing on  _ your _ radar.”

The door slides open and a woman peeks around. She’s small, hair silver with age and wearing a Altean security uniform. She must see Shiro first, because those shrewd eyes narrow instantly.

“He’s three times your size, Dani.” Keith teases.

The woman glances over at Keith and huffs, “I can take him.”

“Oh I have no doubt about that.” Shiro offers his most charming smile and she visibly relaxes.

She shakes a finger between the two of them, “Hira said no visitors today.”

“I wouldn’t be here outside of my schedule for nothing.” Keith counters.

She huffs once more and opens the door wide enough for them to step through, “Take the domestic entrance. The feds are here today.”

Keith pauses, “The feds?” His eyes dart to Shiro for half a second.

Shiro’s stomach twists at the flicker of angry suspicion in those dark eyes. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes once, “It’s my job to make sure they don’t catch him.”

“Do it well.” Dani grunts and begins the process of locking the door up, “Not many men out there like our Keith.”

Shiro twists Keith around by his shoulder as Dani takes a seat in her little makeshift office in the hall.

Keith yanks out of his hold, “Did you tip them off?” He hisses.

Shiro glances back at Dani and shoves Keith around another corner, “I haven’t told anyone where we are. You’ve been with me since this morning.”

“Then why are they here?” Keith paces the width of the hall a few times, “Hira has never been under federal suspicion before.”

Shiro mules it over for a moment, “Maybe they linked the murders together on their own?”

“Only if  _ you _ told them.” Keith shoves a finger into his right pec.

Shiro glances down at it once, then back at Keith’s flushed face, “Keith, what good would it do me to contact them with half-assed information?”

Keith’s hand falls slowly, eyes still suspicious, “So -.”

“ _ So _ -.” Shiro begins, “Either the feds are here about the murders or someone slipped up and exposed something dirty.” He puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder once more and turns him around to face the exit, “Lead the way. My first priority is to make sure  _ we  _ aren’t exposed. Only a handful of people know what my op is.”

Keith sends him a strange look over his shoulder, but pushes on.

They pass through an empty storage room filled with various office supplies, computer monitors, and chairs. Keith rounds a shelf full of boxes labeled ‘digital conversion files’ and ticks his fingers along a wall of hooks holding raincoats. He pulls the third one down and the wall shifts and cracks open with a dusty whoosh.

Shiro whistles, “Impressive.”

Keith pulls it open and waves Shiro through first, “Hira spares no expense for her customers.” He presses a button on the wall once they’re both on the other side, “But she’s a sucker for old-school traps and passages.”

The secret door sucks shut and Shiro faces a decorative hallway with floor to ceiling shades of pale blue. It’s empty, save for a few doors spaced apart in condo style lengths.

“Do people live here?” Shiro asks as he follows close behind Keith.

“Hira’s personal staff.” Keith replies, “There are only two ways to access it and one of them is by fingerprint and key card combinations. The feds will need high level warrants to even get past Hira’s front door. I doubt they’ll make it this far.”

Keith takes them up two flights of stairs before coming to a long, daunting hallway. Two heavily armed men stand on either side of a door. 

Shiro recognizes them for what they are: personal bodyguards.

One puts up a hand as Keith approaches, “Hira isn’t accepting visitors of any nature today.”

Keith doesn’t look put off in the slightest, “She’ll want to meet with me. This involves her extracurricular activities.”

The two guards exchange cautious looks.

Shiro tenses, hand twitching, ready to strike should their position be in jeopardy.

Keith holds steady, “Well?”

“We’ll let her know you’re here.” The second guard reaches out for the door handle and twists it open.

Shiro follows Keith inside the overtly large apartment.

It resembles an all-in-one living space, with a kitchen to the side and a bathroom and bedroom in plain view from the tiny den they stand in.

“Where are we?” Shiro mutters, strolling to a large window overlooking the city beyond. 

No way to exit from there. 

He turns to face Keith, who is making himself comfortable on the loveseat.

“This is where Hira conducts her outside business.” Keith motions around them, “She has an office in the main building for the corporation.”

“You people are big on domestic-style fronts.” Shiro hums.

“It makes us look human.”

Shiro startles and glances over at him, “How so?”

“If we had these dark, dank hideouts like you picture us in, we’re nothing more than violent animals in your eyes.”

Shiro stares around the tiny area, chest tight, “We don’t think you’re animals.”

“Oh -” Keith’s gaze grows dark, haunted, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

And Shiro is unable to deny him that belief. Because in a way, it’s true. He’s heard enough joking conversations and anger induced ranting about underground criminals.

Shiro is no fool, he knows some human beings are downright horrible. Drawn to their innermost instincts and no more than an animal lashing out.

“I don’t think you’re an animal, Keith.” Shiro mutters, “I think you just lost your way.”

A soft laugh, “I found my way just fine. It’s just not your version of normal.”

“Being a criminal isn’t normal.” Shiro snaps.

Keith regards him curiously, eyes raking over Shiro’s tense form, “Criminals have always been a normal aspect of humanity. I’m just passing through the cycle.”

“You could have had an entirely different life.” Shiro’s shoulders sink.

“And you think pretty speeches and a jail cell will turn me on the right path?” Keith sighs irritably.

Shiro’s not sure how to reply to that.

He’s not here to change Keith’s mind or to encourage anything but information out of him. The only objective is to solve the murders and turn each and every one of Keith’s assets and locations over to the FBI.

Shiro leans into the wall beside the loveseat, arms crossed tight over his chest. He listens to the whirl of an air conditioner and the steady tapping of Keith on his cellphone. The guards outside are quiet.

The only safe way out of this room is through the door they came in.

“Do you trust this woman?” Shiro asks.

“Not even a little.” Keith replies airily, thumb sliding across his screen, “Which is why you’re armed.”

Shiro scans Keith from the side, “Are you?”

“Always.” Keith glances over at him, “Just not with guns.”

“You don’t use your own weapons?” Shiro frowns.

Keith shrugs one shoulder in an off-handed way and returns to his phone. Shiro can’t make out who he’s talking to, but he’s pretty certain it’s Romelle or Axca. The two of them seem high up on Keith’s hierarchy of power.

Shiro is also sure they’ll be the slipperiest to catch once this is all over. He has no idea to what lengths any of Keith’s people will go to either escape or keep him safe. Axca was ready to shoot Shiro on the spot just for entering a room.

“- _ And I assure you these condos are only for high level residents. You are invading private property - _ ”

Shiro straightens as the angry voice grows closer.

Keith is already up and off the love seat, hand wrapping tight around Shiro’s wrist. He’s dragged to a nearby closet and shoved inside.

“What the mmf-.” Keith slaps a hand over his mouth, lean body pressing Shiro against a rack of shoes.

Keith puts a finger to his mouth and jerks his head to the crack in the closet door.

The door to the apartment clicks open and then closed.

“This is an empty apartment.” A woman snaps irritably, “You’ve checked every one on this floor. Are you satisfied?”

“We’ll be satisfied after a thorough investigation of the property.” A second female voice is all business and Shiro can make out the regulation black of an FBI suit through the crack.

“It took us a month to get this warrant, Hira.” The agent says, “We intend to leave no stone unturned.”

“Yes. I can see that.” Hira’s tone is icy as she makes a sweeping motion with a perfectly manicured hand.

Shiro leans forward a bit to try and see the rest of her, but Keith’s weight keeps his back firm to the shelf. His heartbeat is steady and those sly eyes are watching the scene, taking in every movement.

Keith’s hand smells like the leather from his gloves, despite them being shucked in favor of a professional appearance. The skin of his palm sticks to Shiro’s lips and the clean scent of soap invades his nose.

Shiro’s body tenses as the agents sweep the room, lifting lamps and rustling through cabinets in the kitchen and bathroom.

They’re bound to check the closet and Shiro is rapidly trying to come up with a contingency plan should that happen.

Keith is utterly recognizable. Shiro is not.

He bites into his bottom lip as the female agent edges closer and closer to their hiding space.

Think, Shiro,  _ think _ .

He looks down at Keith, who has his own dawning look of ‘fuck we’re going to get caught’ forming on his face. When he looks up at the crack again, the female agent is barely a foot away. Her hand is reaching for the knob -

Shiro moves fast, using his strength to push Keith back and guide him until his back hits the end of the closet space. He does it as quietly as he can, using his body to shield Keith’s small form from view.

Small hands curl against his chest and he doesn’t miss the startled hitch of a gasp when he drops his forearms on the wall on either side of Keith’s head. He can feel Keith’s thighs part for him, body surging to accommodate the weight of his own.

Shiro makes the mistake of looking down instead of over his shoulder like he planned.

Keith is staring up at him, flush high on his cheeks, lashes low over his eyes and a plump bottom lip caught between teeth.

Shiro’s stomach twists pleasantly, but that rush is short lived when the knob on the closet door twists behind them.

He presses closer, hoping they won’t be able to see Keith in the initial peek.

Keith lets out a soft sound and the fingers in his shirt twist.

“Don’t worry about it, Rodriquez.” The male agent snaps, “Every closet has just been a closet.”

A pause at the door, “What if the closets have secret doorways to the other apartments?”

“You’ve been watching too many movies.” Hira scoffs.

Rodriguez snorts and the closet clicks shut.

Shiro sags into Keith with a ragged sigh, forehead hitting the wall.

“You’re clear for now, Hira.” The male agent snaps, “But you’re on thin ice.”

“If you would tell me what it is you’re looking for,” Hira sneers, “I would gladly break it.”

“That’s classified.” Rodriguez replies automatically.

“Of course it is.” Hira murmurs, “Deacon, please see these kind federal agents out of my building.”

A low ‘ _ yes ma’am _ ’ comes from one of the guards.

A few minutes and a shuffling of footsteps later, the door shuts and Shiro lets out a rush of air.

“That was close.”

“A little too close.” Keith agrees, clearing his throat, “Quick thinking, by the way.”

“Figured it’d look better as a quick workplace tryst than a criminal and his bodyguard hiding in the closet of a double dealing business woman.” Shiro grins down at him.

Keith lets out a burst of a laugh and has to stifle it with one of his hands. The other one stays firm against Shiro’s chest.

“Well, considering you’re big enough to block out the sun, it’s hardly a  _ bad _ idea.”

Hira’s voice startles both of them and Shiro shoves himself away from the wall so fast he gets dizzy.

She’s dressed in sharp whites and greens, auburn hair cut into a bob and looking as stern as Shiro’s middle school librarian.

“Hira.” Keith straightens out his clothing and steps past Shiro, “Good to see you.”

“Kogane.” She stares down her nose at him, “How kind of you to drop in after being explicitly told twice that I am not welcoming visitiations.”

“I believe you’ll want to hear this.” Keith fixes the cuffs of his sleeves nonchalantly, “It involves our people.”

She eyes him cryptically before stepping out of the way and waving to the loveseat.

Keith sits in the same spot as earlier, Shiro hovering behind him as Hira takes the lone chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Make this quick.” She says, smoothing out the pleats of her pants, “I have a business to run.”

“So do I.” Keith spreads his palms, “Yet here I am.”

Hira’s eyes dart to Shiro, “And with company, no less.” She hums thoughtfully, “Must be dire circumstances if you’re bringing a bodyguard with you.”

“Jiro is simply an ornament.” Keith waves a hand, “I’m hoping the murderer gets brave.”

Hira’s eyebrows go up, “I had heard your people were being - Hm -  _ branded. _ ”

“Word travels.” Keith nods.

“I don’t see what this has to do with me.” She sniffs, “I won’t be providing you with any more gear. Your little gun caravans know the risks that come with dealing in weapons.”

Keith tilts his head, “It’s not just my people being murdered, Hira. Yours are too.”

Shiro watches a look of quick shock twitch at the corner of her eyes. It passes all too quickly.

“I doubt that.” She lifts her chin, “ _ My _ people are careful.”

“Not as careful as you think.” Keith points to the door, “Those federal agents were here for a reason.”

“And you think that reason is -.”

“Our people are being killed, Hira.” Keith sits up straighter in the seat. Gone is his slouched, too confident pose, “Mine are being branded and yours are being marked in ultraviolet.”

“They’re using your signatures as a weapon.” Shiro says, “Like breadcrumbs.”

“They’re targeting the families of our dealers.” Keith says, “And they’re systematically making their way to us.”

“They?” Hira asks.

“It takes more than one to rack up a body count as high as it is now.” Keith rises to his feet, “I suggest you look into any missing people or distressed employees.”

Shiro follows Keith to the door, noting Hira’s eyes never leave their person.

“Contact Romelle with your findings and she can match them to the Jane and John’s in the mourges.” Keith opens the door.

“What makes you think I care about a few dead Alteans?” Hira snaps, “My business is bigger than a petty underground squabble.”

“You have a mole.” Keith smirks, “That’s how they knew who to target.”

Keith slips into the hallway, Shiro right behind him. He waits until they’re past the second flight of stairs before speaking.

“Why do you think she has a mole?”

Keith keeps his gaze forward, “Only someone with damn good clearance could get the feds enough evidence for a warrant to search Hira’s entire building.”

“They’d know about the side business and the traders Hira uses to deal underground,” Shiro frowns with realization, “Which means  _ you _ have one as well.”

Keith’s jaw clenches.

“Don’t worry. They won’t be hiding much longer.”

When they get back to the car, Keith orders the driver to take them home.

“What will you do?” Shiro asks softly.

Keith looks at him, elbow resting on the window edge and chin in hand, “We are going to sniff them out.”

“And then?” Shiro crosses his arms tight over his chest.

“That depends -” Keith’s eyes roam over him and the path burns under Shiro’s skin in the best way, “On how far you’re willing to go to catch this guy.”

Shiro swallows thickly and looks out the window.

“Just tell me what you need me to do.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really isn't a slow burn. I promise.
> 
> I'm just building suspense.
> 
> (The chapters will be getting much longer after this. So expect some spaced out updates to accommodate my day job and my writing hobby)


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Sa. 
> 
> Thanks for providing us with some amazing AU's. 
> 
> Here's part one of your birthday present.
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy_

**Four**   
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s no rest for the wicked, even on Saturday’s.

The alarm on Shiro’s phone pulls him out of a restless slumber. He rolls onto his side, metal arm reaching out blindly for the device. His fingers fumble with the charger cable attached to the bottom, but eventually he drags it above his head to squint up at the bright light reading 7:45.

He groans and drops his arm across his eyes.

It’s been a messy, exhausting first week.

Shiro’s been undercover before, back when he was first promoted to detective and green as astroturf. But that had been small compared to the level he’s risen to now.

With Keith, he has to know the right people, stand the right way, act less like a cop and more like he’s been running the streets since birth.

And Keith is infuriatingly patient.

He never demands, only reminds.

Shiro’s been a cop for ten years. It’s hard to break that programing in less than a week and Keith seems to understand that.

He can smell the coffee brewing in the kitchen and wonders if Keith is already up and moving around.

They’re supposed to meet Axca and Romelle at a safehouse downtown to meet a client.

Shiro wants a shower, at least two cups of coffee, and breakfast before he’s up for anything remotely high-energy on a weekend. Especially after the week they’ve already had.

Because despite the cold hard crime - Keith has a busy life.

Busier than Shiro thought it would be given that it’s - you know -  _ illegal _ .

Keith spends most of his time on the phone, barking orders, growling out threats, and micromanaging a massive empire of unique weapons.

Shiro didn’t know until yesterday that Keith doesn’t just deal in guns. He deals in swords, daggers, ammunition of all types. Basically, if it’s used as a weapon in combat - Keith can get it made for you.

Shiro had struggled not to be impressed when Keith ran him through the basics of a standard meeting with a client. They’d spent most of last night reviewing everything Shiro needed to know. How to spot a crooked client, how to react if a deal goes south, etc.

Safe to say, by the time Shiro crawled into bed half past one, he knew more than he needed to about dirty dealing politicians and people desperate for a way to assert their authority.

Shiro’s seen some shit in his time as a cop, but he had no idea how deep the infection ran until he’d been thrust into the fray.

The smell of coffee grows stronger and more enticing the longer he lays out in bed. His phone buzzs again with a snoozed alarm. He silences it and slips out from under the covers.

If there’s one thing he’ll give Keith credit for; it’s his taste in showers.

It’s massive, made of sand colored stone, and the pressurized head is nirvana on Shiro’s aching shoulder. He spends most of his evenings and some of his mornings under the hot spray of water, wishing he were anywhere else.

This morning is no exception. He soaps up with the fancy gel sitting on a ledge, taking his time and focusing on the nasty scars where his bicep and prosthetic meet. The skin is still sensitive, even after having it at long as he has. He doubts the phantom twinges of pain will ever go away.

After washing, he enjoys the rush of sound from the water and the curling steam from the heat.

The fancy bed, the amazing shower - all things Shiro’s gone without his entire life are now everywhere he turns.

His apartment was a barren land of gym equipment and a mattress. Just like his box from the station. No photographs. No memories.

Just him.

This shower and that big bed and Keith’s presence around the condo are all new to him.

So is the thick scent of  _ Keith _ everywhere. On the couch. On Shiro’s sheets. Passing by him in the hall or hovering at his elbow during meetings.

Keith burns a path no matter what direction he’s going and he leaves Shiro frustrated and fried in his wake.

It could also quite possibly be that he hasn’t been with anyone since Adam. And that was - he ticks at his metal fingers with a frown - four years ago.

He hangs his head and groans.

The casual touches to his elbows, his arms, his back, when Keith is ready to move on to the next item on their to-do list. All of those little touches sear him to the bone.

That’s definitely what it was. The consuming urge that overcame him when Keith dyed his hair, those cool, sure fingers scraping across his scalp, was all just due to lack of getting laid on a regular basis.

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the swelling between his legs.

He will  _ not _ jerk off in Keith’s house.

And he will  _ not _ jerk off to the memory of Keith’s thin, stupidly strong fingers dragging through his hair.

No.

_ No. _

He cracks an eye open and scowls at his erection.

For a hot minute, he debates twisting the water to cold and just shocking the arousal out of his system. But that wouldn’t solve the problem. If anything, he’d just be perpetually horny for the rest of the goddamn day and then where would he be?

Shiro wraps a hand around himself and shivers. He bites back a groan and fists his metal hand to the shower wall.

He makes it quick, using residual soap to slick the path. The sounds are obscene in the massive, echoing bathroom, but he doesn’t care. He can feel the burn at the base of his cock, it’s so close his knees almost buckle.

Shiro tries to think of the last time he had sex. Who it was. Where he was. Did he fuck them or did they fuck him?

His thumb glides over the tip and he sucks in a breath, face scrunched up as he tries to recall  _ anything _ other than his own hand.

What he gets is Keith.

Leaning forward on the couch, sleeves rolled up to his forearms as he looks over his paperwork. The smell of smoky cologne and an authoritative tone ordering people around.

Shiro’s eyes fly open on a gasp and he comes, fist clenching tight around his cock and thighs straining to hold his weight up against the pleasure.

“Fuck.” He swallows and drops his forehead to the chilled metal of his arm, “ _ Fuck _ .”

He rinses away the evidence of his orgasm and quickly leaves the shower. His phone is beeping with another alarm on the edge of the unmade bed. He grabs it with one hand, while he holds a towel up with the other.

An alarm and a text from Pidge.

He dismisses the alarm and brings up the text message.

**Pidge:** _Shiro. Jane doe just arrived at the morgue. I checked the ultraviolet tip you gave me earlier this week and it checks out. Another one for you._

Shiro curses.

**Shiro:** _Send me everything you’ve got. Including toxicology. I want a full scan run. Make sure Matt can get it for me before the feds drop by to claim it._

 **Pidge:** _Will do._

Shiro gets dressed in a hurry and tosses his jacket over his arm as he flips the light off to his room and starts down the hall.

He can see the kitchen from where he is, but it’s empty, save for a small light above the stove.

Shiro pauses and frowns.

Keith wasn’t up before him?

He steps closer to Keith’s bedroom door and it’s cracked open about halfway. He presses a hand to the center of it and peeks around the corner.

Keith  _ is _ up.

Shiro swallows thickly and is suddenly very glad he got off in the shower.

Keith is standing by the window, sheer curtains barely hiding the skyline of the city at dawn. He’s wearing grey slacks and nothing else, hair wet from a shower and small drops of water slipping down the slope of a well-defined back.

A back covered from shoulder to ass with a tattoo.

It’s a dragon; scales shining in shades of obsidian, red smoke curling around its muzzle and claws.

It’s as breathtakingly beautiful as the man himself.

Keith glances over his shoulder, “You’re up.”

Shiro has to clear his throat to keep from squeaking out the words, “Yep. Getting coffee, you?”

Keith nods, “Let me put a shirt on and I’ll join.”

Shiro beats a hasty retreat and goes to the kitchen in search of the biggest mug of coffee he can muster.

He pours a cup for himself and one for Keith just as the man is coming down the hall.

Keith is still shoving his arms through the sleeves of a white button up as he approaches the island. He doesn’t bother buttoning it as he grabs the cream from the fridge and the canister of sugar from behind the coffee maker.

Shiro sips from his own mug and stares at the dark trail of hair beneath Keith’s navel. His stomach growls with a different sort of hunger.

“Like it?” Keith’s voice drags his gaze back up quickly.

He’s still stirring sugar into his coffee - thank god.

“Huh?” Shiro feels and sounds like a dumbass.

Keith glances over at him with dark eyes, “I know you saw it.”

“Oh.” Shiro pets the side of his mug with his fingers, “The tattoo. Is it - uh - like the Yakuza? Tattoos for status?”

“Basically.” Keith murmurs, “Axca, Romelle, and Narti all have something.”

Shiro clears his throat, “Not Lotor?”

Keith makes a face, “He doesn't take sides. He’s on his own side.”

“But he’s helping you.” Shiro points out.

“Yea.” Keith takes a sip of his coffee and frowns, pours more sugar, “But he has his own agenda and goals. Always has.”

“Why a dragon?” Shiro asks softly.

A smile tugs at Keith’s mouth and he finally deems his coffee sweet enough to drink, “It’s just something I liked.”

Shiro doesn’t believe that, but he won’t push. It’s none of his business anyway.

He shouldn’t plan to be around any longer than he needs to.

And he definitely shouldn’t tap into this strange connection with Keith any deeper than he already has.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The meeting with Keith’s client takes place in an empty storage warehouse in the busiest part of downtown. Why Keith decides to do his business transactions in the middle of the freaking day is beyond him.

But Shiro’s job right now, with Axca running birds eye and Romelle holding the stock hostage in a back room, is to protect Keith.

Keith - who looks far too relaxed in his untucked shirt and hair tied back - is flipping through his phone.

Shiro stays on his right side, eyes scanning across the empty concrete flooring. There are no boxes. No cover. Only a double door to an old delivery hatch and two small entrance ways. One leading to a parking lot, the other leading to an alley exit.

“You’re really taking this bodyguard thing seriously.” Keith murmurs to where only Shiro can hear him.

Shiro drops his gaze to meet Keith’s, “I’m not letting the collar of my career get killed.”

“Flatterer.” Keith smirks, slipping his phone into his pocket and turning his full attention on Shiro, “Putting me behind bars will really set you up, won’t it?”

Not really.

The most Shiro would get is a press conference and  _ maybe _ a job offer from the pompous-ass feds who brown nosed their way into his case.

Shiro shrugs a shoulder, “Might get a nice raise.”

“Is that so?” Keith hums, “Then bodyguard away.” He waves lazily around the room.

“I know you’re being an ass.” Shiro huffs, “But this is what you wanted me to do. Play the part?”

Keith frowns, “I just didn’t expect you to look so intense everywhere we go. I’ve been doing this without a guard my entire time running this show.”

“Have you ever had a crazy person murdering your people?” Shiro lifts an eyebrow.

Keith opens his mouth, then closes it, “Fair point.”

“ _ They’re here. _ ” Axca’s voice crackles to life as their earpieces cut on.

Shiro unbuttons the opening of his vest as five men step through the alley entrance. He parts the fabric just enough to reveal his shoulder holster and the two pistols hiding on either side of his chest.

Keith eyes him like an all you can eat buffet, “That’s so _ sexy _ .”

Shiro flushes, “It’s not  _ meant _ to be -.”

“Kogane.” A dark-haired man in the center leads the group, flanked on either side by tall, broad shouldered bodyguards.

“You’re new.” Keith eyes the five of them one by one.

“Morvok sends his regret. He’s tied up in another business dealing.” The man spreads his hands, “I’m here for the merchandise.”

Keith tips his head to the side, “And the payment?”

The ringleader waves to a brunette carrying a duffle bag, “As promised.”

Keith makes a face, “A  _ bag _ ? Are you new to this?”

Shiro swallows back a laugh.

Ringleader man flushes, “Excuse me your,  _ highness _ .”

“Jiro. Get the shitty gym bag from these morons.” Keith waves a hand.

Shiro nods once and steps ahead of Keith. He makes sure to stretch his metal hand out for the bag.

Brunette underling #2 eyes it with an audible swallow and drapes the strap over the center of Shiro’s palm.

“Check it.” Keith orders from behind him.

Shiro twists the strap around his hand and lifts it up to where he can unzip the center. His chest squeezes at the scent and sight of bundled cash. He reaches inside and digs around for anything suspicious - like a bomb - before tipping the opening in Keith’s direction.

Keith nods once and Shiro returns to his side.

“Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.” Keith doesn’t touch the bag hovering between them.

“Not so fast.” Ringleader holds up a hand, “Morvok put extra in there.” He points to the bag, “He wants the drugs you’ve been pushing.”

Shiro inhales sharply, but doesn’t remove his gaze from the five men.

“ _ What? _ ” Axca’s tone is acid over the com.

“I don’t deal in drugs, newbie.” Keith lifts his chin.

“Bullshit.” Ringleader takes a step closer and Shiro reaches for his dominant gun.

“Watch yourself.” Shiro warns.

The five of them eye Shiro suspiciously, but Ringleader holds up a hand, “You don’t have to play coy, Kogane. Everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” Keith snaps, “You wanted weapons - I provided you stock. I don’t handle narcotics and Morvok knows that.”

Ringleader narrows his gaze, “Rumor has it that a new drug is on the market and a little birdie told us you could get it - that you were pushing it at Arus.”

Arus - Arus -

The club Keith was going to the night he was caught.

“Wrong faction dumbass.” Keith says, “You want a high? Find the Galra.”

Ringleader scoffs, “Their watered down garbage isn’t worth the pay.” He rubs his fingers together, “They say this stuff can jettison you into another universe.”

“Whatever it is -.” Keith’s tone is lethal, “I don’t push it. Get out of my sight.”

“Give us the money then.” Ringleader snaps.

Shiro pulls out his gun and levels it on the man.

Predictably, the other four draw their own weapons.

“Maybe check your facts before you make a deal.” Keith nods at Shiro, who flips the safety off, “You have until the count of ten to leave. Or they start shooting.”

“They -?” Ringleader takes a hesitant step back.

“You think I’m stupid enough to come here with  _ visible _ backup?” Keith scoffs, “You  _ are _ new.”

Ringleader opens his mouth to protest.

Shiro moves his finger to the trigger, “One.”

The man snarls and twists on his heels. He calls for his men to follow and they disappear the same way they came in.

“Romelle.” Keith calls, “Is it done?”

“ _ Delivered _ .” Romelle responds diligently, “ _ I’m already on the drug rumor. _ ”

“Good.” Keith picks up the duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder.

Shiro replaces his gun in its holster and turns to face Keith. He’s pulling his ear piece out and holding out a hand for Shiro’s.

The man nods approvingly, “You handled that well.”

“That’s a lot of money.” Shiro nods at the bag.

Keith’s smile is far too joyous for someone who just sold a truck-ton of weapons to a supervillain sounding man named  _ Morvok _ .

He sets a hand on the center of Shiro’s chest, palm gliding over the fabric of his shirt and ending up at his holster. He tugs on it with a purr, “Thought I’d buy you something nice to wear tonight.”

Shiro holds firm instead of swaying into the man’s space like he desperately wants to, “Why?”

Keith smirks and his thumb passes over the rise of his nipple.

Shiro chokes on his own spit and looks down at Keith desperately.

“We’re going out to the club.” Keith replies, patting his chest once before stepping away, “I want my arm candy to look his best.”

The accompanying wink sends Shiro’s blood pressure sky high.

  
  
  


-

  
  


Shiro’s never been inside Arus.

He’s not one for suffocating atmospheres or loud music or flashing lights. Plus, on the nights the clubs are really hopping, Shiro was usually out solving the murder or assault of someone from one of those many clubs.

“Is this really necessary?” Shiro tugs irritably at the sinfully tight black shirt Keith bought for him.

It clings to his chest like a second skin and left no room for him to carry his gun.

Keith side-eyes him from the comfort of his loose red-t-shirt and black leather jacket, “You look great.”

“I look like a human sushi roll.” Shiro frowns.

“Delicious.” Keith smirks, passing up the red-tape line of people and going straight for the door.

The bouncer gives them both the ‘eye’, “No trouble today, Kogane?”

“All clear.” Keith gives a toothy smile, “Just dropping in for some information.”

Bouncer nods once, “Good. Been gettin’ suspicious inside.” He opens the door for them, ignoring the protesting club-waiters behind them.

Keith steps inside first.

Shiro braces himself for the harsh, dark fluorescent headache, but only gets a subtle dimming of light.

The music is still loud, hypnotic and low pulsing, but the only moving light is the spotlight on the circular dance floor in the center. Comfy black couches rise around the center like a blooming flower, each with an accompanying dark wood table. There’s a stretch of silver and black bartop on either side of the room, the bartenders dressed in vests and ties and not much else.

It’s not at all what he was expecting.

But it is full of people in tight dresses and nice outfits, still drunk and stumbling, but classier.

Keith seems to know where he’s going, so Shiro follows him, eyes roaming over the press of bodies on the dancefloor.

A few of the bartenders say ‘hi’ as they pass and Keith returns the gesture.

“Come here a lot?” Shiro murmurs.

Keith shrugs a shoulder, “Used to - back when -.”

“Keith.”

Shiro turns to face the speaker, but notices Keith doesn’t. Not right away at least.

The man is tall, taller than Shiro almost, with dark, curling hair and olive skin. He’s dressed like a bouncer and his eyes are shrewd and mischievous and focused solely on the tense line of Keith’s back.

Shiro takes an unconscious step forward in an attempt to shield Keith from that gaze, but Keith finally turns around.

“Regris.” He shoves his gloved hands into the pocket of his slacks, “Just who I was looking for.”

A dark eyebrow raises, “Is that so?” He glances at Shiro, “Not for the reasons I assume, given your - company.” He waves an elegant hand, “I see your type hasn’t changed.”

“He’s a bodyguard.” Keith says dismissively, “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

Regris sighs heavily, “So. Business then.”

“No other reason for me to be here.” Keith lifts his chin.

“Oh. That’s not true.” A smirk, “Don’t think I didn’t know you were here the other night. Looking for a  _ visit _ .” Regris reaches out for Keith’s face and Shiro snaps his right hand around the stretched wrist.

“Touch him and I break it.” Shiro growls.

The wrist twitches under his fingers and those dark eyes narrow, “You got one that bites.”

Shiro releases the appendage and Regris rubs at it with a frown.

“I’m not here for the hell of it, Regris.” Keith snaps, “I want to know what drugs your pushing through this place.”

Regris looks mildly surprised, “There are no  _ drugs _ in my club.”

Shiro watches Keith’s face go from cool anger to fury, “Don’t lie to me. People don’t just  _ ask _ me for drugs on the daily. Nor do they know my connection to this place.” He points a finger at Regris’ chest, “Which means someone  _ here _ threw my name in with the sell.”

Regris scowls, “You know me, Keith.”

Keith’s face twitches just enough that Shiro can see the pinched, hurt lines around his eyes, “No. I don’t.”

Regris goes to speak and that’s when Shiro spots them.

Standing in the back corner near the restrooms, a tall, too skinny frame gesturing towards the opening to the mens room. It would look completely normal,  _ if  _ Shiro wasn’t a cop trained to spot drug deals.

The nervous glance the buyer casts around them, the hovering nature of the seller.

“Keith.” Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder and points a finger where the two men disappear into the bathrooms.

Keith’s eyes follow his gaze, “Bingo.”

Regris turns sharply on his heels, “Not in my club they’re not.”

“Regris.” Keith hisses, “Stay here.”

Regris rounds on the both of them, “You can hate me until the world burns, but I will not be labeled as dishonest when it comes to my business dealings with you.” He points a finger at the bathroom, “No drugs are allowed in my club. That was our agreement and I don’t intend to break it.”

Shiro puts out a hand to stop him from going any further, “I’ll go in first.”

He’s the cop. He’s the bodyguard. This is  _ his _ job.

They make their way across the thicket of club goers, Shiro taking the front and keeping an eye on any other suspicious gazes.

Regris deters a few from entering the restroom as they push open the door.

It’s quiet, save for soft spoken words that bounce of the silver walls of the room. All of the stall doors are open, except for the last one and Shiro can see the dealer and sellers shoes shuffling under the divider.

Shiro steps forward and raps twice on the door.

Someone gasps and something hits the ground.

An empty surgical syringe rolls out from under the stall and a shiny purple substance stains the inside of the plastic.

Shiro reaches up for the top of the stall to wrench the door open, but it slams into his chest before he can act.

The force of it throws him against the wall.

His head connects with the concrete and white spots blur his vision. He can vaguely hear Regris curse and see Keith backing into the sinks as a gun is waved in his face.

“How opportunistic that you be here, Kogane.” The seller’s grin is malicious as he stares down at Keith, gun tucking into the dip of his chin, “There’s a high price on your pretty head.”

Shiro tries to shake the cobwebs, gripping tight to the door and attempting to stumble in Keith’s direction.

A groan comes from his left and Shiro squints into the stall, spotting the buyer on his knees, hand clawing at the crook of his elbow. He’s rocking back and forth, muttering and groaning, blood rising from the repetitive scratching.

“Don’t you lay a hand on him.” Regris snarls.

The seller flicks the gun away from Keith and puts a bullet through Regris’ shoulder. Regris stumbles back against the bathroom door as blood blooms dark through his shirt. 

The shot is loud and Shiro can see Keith physically wince from the close proximity.

Screams erupt from the club behind them.

“Son of a -” Keith digs the heel of his boot into the sellers shin and it gains him enough reprieve for Shiro to barrel into him.

They hit the ground together and Shiro grabs for his dominant hand, twisting it until it cracks and the gun hits the ground.

“FUCK!” The seller struggles and Shiro is still dizzy from hitting his head, but he keeps the man pinned, arm against his throat.

He can feel the spare arm flopping around, nails digging into his side and then gone.

“Shit - Shir-.” Keith stumbles over his real name, but it gives Shiro enough pause to twist his gaze around.

The buyer is standing behind him, body shaking and holding another gun. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, hands trembling and finger hovering over the trigger. Shiro can see the veins in his wrists, up the length of his arm, to the bleeding track mark in his elbow.

Blood drips steadily from the wound, hitting the tile floor like a leaky faucet. His knees tremble, he can barely stand.

“Put the gun down -.” Shiro lifts one of his hands in a classic ‘calm down’ gesture he’s used a dozen times in the field.

The man gestures wildly with the gun, jerking it back and forth between Shiro, Keith, and Regris, who is trying to stem the flow of blood from his shoulder.

“D-D-D-.” He struggles with the words, presses a hand to his temple and screams.

“Weak.” The seller spits from under Shiro’s hold.

“You shut up.” Keith snarls from above, “What the fuck did you give him?”

Shiro eyes the empty syringe on the floor. He needs to get that to Pidge, because whatever it is, it’s dangerous.

“Make i-i-i-it st-st-stop-.” The buyer claws at the side of his face.

Shiro needs to get that gun.

Keith is slipping along the edge of the sinks, eyes narrowed on the distressed druggie, obviously looking for a weak point. Shiro spots the shimmering edge of a blade curled up against his wrist.

“Don’t move!” The man swings the gun towards Keith.

Shiro’s heart rate spikes and the seller begins to laugh under him.

Keith moves fast - faster than Shiro thought he could move. He darts forward, knife flipping forward in a practiced move. The seller panics and fires a shot, but Keith is already in his face, knife to his throat, “Give me the gun.”

Keith has to jerk out of the way when another shaky shot escapes. Shiro doubts the man can even truly see anything through the haze of whatever is in his system.

Keith shoulders him in the chest and the gun drops from a limp hand as the man lands inside one of the bathroom stalls. Keith catches the gun and dismantles it in seconds, tossing the mag and gun onto the ground.

Shiro is so goddamn busy watching Keith, that he misses the swinging arm of the man trapped beneath him.

It catches him on the side of the head and he hisses, jerking too far to the right. The seller manages to scramble up and backwards, shoving a groaning Regris out of the way as he goes to open the door.

“Oh no you don’t -.” Keith snarls.

But the man slips through the crack.

Shiro rises quickly to his feet and follows Keith to the door. He watches the man run through the club, shoving patrons out of his way.

But there’s the unmistakable red and blue lights flashing through the open front doors. The seller makes a sharp detour to the left.

“Cops.” Shiro yanks Keith behind him, “Damn it.”

“We can’t let him get away.” Keith hisses up at him.

“You won’t.” Regris’ voice is hoarse and when Shiro looks down, he’s holding up a set of keys, “My bike is in the side alley. He’ll try to escape that way.”

“Get the syringe.” Shiro orders as he grabs the keys from Regris.

Keith doubles back to the bathroom, grabbing both guns and the purple syringe. Shiro can hear the buyer groaning and wheezing in the stall.

Shiro watches the cops try to break through the panicked crowd of clubbers. He finds the side door on the left of the bar just as it’s snapping shut.

“We need to move fast.” He mutters, watching Keith rearm the guns and shove both in the back of his pants. The knife slips into his boot.

“Betcha he has a ride waiting on him.” Keith murmurs as they slip into the club.

The cops are beelining towards the bathrooms. 

Shiro slings an arm around Keith’s neck, pulling him in close.

He can smell Keith’s cologne, the sweat from the fight, whatever shampoo he used during his shower.

The cops blow right past them, guns draw and barking orders to establish a perimeter.

Shiro glances over his shoulder for a split second when they get to the door, checking to make sure no one is watching, before dragging both of them outside.

Sure enough, at the end of the alley, the seller is throwing himself into a car with blacked out windows.

“Fuck.” Keith attempts to rush forward, but Shiro puts a hand to his chest and jingles the keys.

“Can you even drive a motorcycle?” Keith hisses incredulously as Shiro tosses a leg over the assumed bike.

“Sure.” Shiro shrugs a shoulder and shoves the keys in the ignition, “You coming?”

Keith eyes the car as it takes off, then Shiro who pats the seat behind him. He climbs on quickly, arms wrapping tight around Shiro’s upper waist.

Shiro hasn’t ridden a bike in  _ years _ , but Keith doesn’t need to know that. 

What they need to know is where that car is going.

So, he peels out of the alleyway, through a barricade of cops shouting and waving, and takes a sharp turn in the direction of the escaping car.

He can see the blackout vehicle in the distance, running an obvious red light. It turns green by the time Shiro gets to it and there are cars still honking furiously in the middle of the intersection.

“We got a tail.” Keith voice carries over the cold winter wind rushing past them.

Shiro glances at his mirror and spots two cop cars.

Kolivan is going to kill him when he finds out about this.

“Hold on.” Shiro makes a low turn as the getaway car does, running a red light in the process.

The sirens are deafening and Shiro’s adrenaline is so high he can hear his own heart pounding. But Keith’s arms are solid and grounding around him, his voice steady as he keeps a sharp eye on obstacles in the road.

An arm pokes out of the sellers car and a gun pops off.

Shiro jerks to the side, “Goddamn it.”

Another shot, sloppy and off center.

“Cops detoured.” Keith says into his ear.

That’s shit news. It means they’re going to try and block them off further down the route. Or they’ve already called in a back up perimeter.

Shiro focuses on the speeding car ahead of them, trying to get closer. He can just barely make out the license plate number, which could be completely useless come morning. He can’t see inside the windows.

Another shot sparks off the concrete to his left.

Traffic grows condensed the further inward they travel. Cars are honking as they weave in between and around.

The car runs through a yellow light. It turns red. Cars begin to move from the opposite lanes.

“ _ Shiro  _ -.” Keith hisses, fingers digging into the skin of his chest, “Shiro - No -.”

Shiro leans forward, revs the engine, “Yep.”

And darts between two oncoming cars.

He can hear the reflexive screeching of brakes and a sick crunch of metal behind them.

“Holy  _ shit _ .” Keith breathes against his neck, laughter bubbling and vibrating against his back.

Shiro stuffs down the pride until  _ after  _ he’s gotten closer to the getaway car.

“Get the plate.” Shiro barks.

“RET365.” Keith reads off, “Cops dead ahead.”

Sure enough, an entire barricade of cops looms in the distance, lights bright against the dark backdrop of the city.

The car must see that too and the arm with the gun retreats. They swing a sharp right and two cop cars swerve to follow.

Shiro feels Keith sit up a little straighter, “Service road. Left.”

Shiro banks in that direction, ignoring the megaphone announcement coming from the cops barricade.

The road is mostly clear, save for a few delivery trucks parked against buildings. He weaves between them, listening as the traffic sounds and sirens fade behind them.

He slows the bike to a crawl, heart thumping and skin searing despite the near freezing temperatures outside.

“I think we’re clear.” Keith murmurs, “Let’s get back home.”

Shiro clears his throat, “What about Regris?”

Keith tenses, “He’ll be fine. We need to hide the bike and I need to contact Romelle to alter the tapes at the club.”

Shit, he’s right.

“Home it is then.”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


They stash the bike behind a dumpster in the complex parking garage. 

Shiro twists the keys between his fingers and watches Keith make a handful of phone calls. Each call is rushed and irritable and he paces the length of a parking space, obviously still running on pure adrenaline from the chase.

Shiro has his own phone out, sending a quick text to Pidge requesting a covert meet-up.

They begin their walk up to the top of the building.

“Romelle will get with us soon. Narti is scouting the club to find the junkie and Axca is following up with Regris at the hospital.” Keith shuts his screen off and nods at Shiro’s, “You?”

“I have someone who can test what’s in the syringe.” Shiro presses the button for their elevator and waits, “But we’ll have to meet them somewhere discreet.”

Keith’s eyebrows go up, “Thought you couldn’t contact your precinct.”

“I can’t.” Shiro smirks, “officially.”

“Unofficially?” Keith ventures.

“My partners sister is  _ very _ good at what she does.” Shiro replies.

Keith nods once and faces the doors, “Set up meeting as soon as they’re able.”

Shiro glances down at his phone when it vibrates.

**P:** _I’ll text you with a location and time in the am. Bring your scary mob boss_

The doors whoosh open and Shiro steps inside the elevator behind Keith.

He’s so preoccupied with texting Pidge the details of the night and listening to the hum of the elevator carrying them skyward, that he doesn’t see Keith move.

At least, not until he has almost six foot of lean, gorgeous male pressing him into the wall of the elevator.

The phone very nearly drops from his hand.

Keith’s hands frame his face, dark eyes narrowed and lips parting to say something. Shiro’s eyes unwillingly dart down to stare at them.

They hold like that for a loaded moment.

Shiro’s chest hitches and every fibre of his being is telling him to remove those hands from his face. 

Step back. Get out.

_ You’re a good cop, Shirogane. Don’t throw that away for a pretty face. _

Keith decides for him.

Fingers curl around the back of his neck and their mouths crash together the moment the elevator lurches to a halt.

Keith growls into the kiss, a feral sound that goes straight between Shiro’s legs. The doors whoosh open and then Keith is dragging him forward, their feet tripping over one another. He can’t see a goddamn thing, the apartment is dark.

Shiro tries to find a light switch while Keith practically sucks his soul out through his mouth, but gives up in favor of putting both of his hands on perfect hip bones.

Keith breaks apart for air, mouth slick and warm as it gasps against Shiro’s chin - and then dives back in for more.

Shiro groans deep in his chest, trying to maneuver them - unable to think about anything but getting Keith horizontal. He tries to reach out for what he assumes would be the couch, but his hand slips and they both go tumbling down.

Shiro’s back hits the floor with a starburst of pain, his elbow catching part of the fall. 

His eyes adjust to the dim light and heat sears through his belly as Keith makes himself comfortable astride Shiro’s hips.

Warm, sure palms glide up and over the rise of his chest, curling into the fabric as Keith leans forward and aligns their mouths again.

Shiro reaches around with his flesh hand to cup the dip in Keith’s spine, fingers skimming up under the jacket, over the lethe bone and tangling in dark hair.

Keith shivers against him, lips parting and tongue darting out to tease Shiro’s. It’s wet and hot and Shiro’s dizzy with adrenaline and desire. His fingers curl and twist the hair at Keith’s nape, tugging gently and urging the kiss to tilt and change with every breath.

Keith’s hips hitch and roll against his own, cock obviously hard in his jeans.

“ _ Jesus _ -.” Shiro gasps when Keith breaks away, nails skimming down his chest, over his nipples, to the button of his pants, “Whoa - Keith -.” He falls back onto his metal forearm and his flesh hand reaches back around and grips Keith’s wrists - effectively freezing his motions.

Keith’s eyes dart up, chest heaving with breath, his jacket hanging off of one shoulder. Even in the dark Shiro can see his flushed cheeks and the swollen lines of his mouth.

His dick twitches and his hand spasms around Keith’s wrist.

“This is a -.” Bad idea. The worst. Shiro could get so in much trouble.

Keith flicks the button open, licking his lips and grinding his cock down into Shiro’s, “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, you know that, Shirogane?”

Shiro bites into his bottom lip, watching as Keith fights his grip and continues to unbutton both of their pants, “W-what?”

And whatever Keith is  _ going _ to tell him doesn’t come out.

He gets his leather encased hand around Shiro’s cock and that’s it. Game over.

Shiro snarls and shoves his hand back into Keith’s hair, yanking his head back on his spine. The hand around his cock twitches, but only just, before squeezing and twisting up. It sizzles across Shiro’s skin like fire and brings with it a renewed rush of arousal.

Their mouths meet in the middle, too much teeth and tongue and urgency as Keith struggles to free his own erection.

“Ooooh-.” Keith purrs into the kiss as their cocks rub together. His shoulders bunch up and his lips tremble against Shiro’s, “You did so  _ well  _ today.” His hips rise and fall - hot, slick skin sliding together and dragging a wheeze from Shiro’s chest, “You’d make a better criminal than a cop, Shiro.”

Shiro bites into Keith’s bottom lip and the resounding moan he gives in reply nearly finishes him right there.

Instead, he struggles to push up, back finding the edge of the couch and metal fist reaching between them.

Keith shouts against his cheek when his hand wraps around both of their cocks easily.

“Fuck  _ yes _ -.” Keith’s hands grip Shiro’s shoulders, thighs trembling.

Shiro vaguely wonders when the last time Keith did this was. Had it been Regris? Had Shiro’s operation interrupted Keith’s attempt at a -

Nails dig into his neck and Shiro hisses, glancing up at Keith.

Keith is scowling, lips twisted into a snarl, “ _ Look _ at  _ me _ .”

Shiro squeezes their cocks together, thumbing over the slick heads and watching as the harsh anger on Keith’s face melts into something softer.

The nails retract and a soft thumb curves over the rise of his throat, “Watch me.” Keith murmurs, ass sliding smoothly along Shiro’s thighs, fucking into his fist and along the ridges of Shiro’s cock.

It’s unbelievably _ hot _ .

Shiro can’t even remember the last time sex had been this -

“Should really take this to a bed.” Shiro murmurs, never taking his eyes off Keith’s pleasure pinched face.

Keith shakes his head, wrist curling around the back of Shiro’s, “You can fuck me later.” His pace picks up and his back bows, beautiful even fully dressed and hair sticking to his face from sweat, “Just -” He whines, “Faster -.”

Shiro wraps his other arm around Keith’s back, leather cool under the skin and cocks molten in his metal fist. He strokes both of them in unison, the sound of it wet and messy. Watching with rapt fascination as Keith writhes around in his lap.

It’s obscene and breathtaking and against every rule Shiro set for himself this morning in the shower.

But Keith rolls against him, fingers gripping tight and mouth open on a long, breathy moan of Shiro’s name - and Shiro can’t seem to find an excuse  _ not _ to do this.

He drags both of them, panting and shaking, through a brutal climax.

Keith shudders above him as he comes, arms draping down the back of Shiro’s shoulders. His mouth finds Shiro’s and the kiss is a lazy, post coital mess of a kiss that Shiro soaks up like he’s been dying of thirst.

They sit there, bodies sloping down from the adrenaline of the night, from the headrush of orgasm, just kissing.

Until Keith rises on shaky knees and drags Shiro up with him. 

They leave their cellphones and the guns and the syringe on the floor of the apartment. All things that are  _ important _ . 

Things that Shiro’s  _ job _ depends on. That this entire operation depends on.

Except Keith’s shedding his gloves and his jacket and his come-covered shirt and leading Shiro down the long hall to his bedroom.

The black dragon shifts along Keith’s back, ethereal and haunting in the darkness - red smoke luring Shiro towards the bed.

He follows without question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please wear appropriate gear when riding motorcycles.
> 
> Also, Shiro and Keith both gonna have praise kinks in this story because I make the rules.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Enjoy_

 

**Five**   
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

Shiro’s dream is warm and languid and his head swims pleasantly in the haze. 

He hums at the heat pooling near his groin, knees spreading to the ghost of a memory between his legs. Or more accurately, the dream of eager lips and gasping breath and a magnificent body in his lap.

He wakes slowly; eager to get a hand around his cock and stroke off to the frantic dream.

His body is thrumming, arousal sharp and possessive and bright. He drags his flesh hand down his chest and finds hair instead of dick.

Shiro gasps, eyes flying open and fingers twisting in the locks.

A sharp hiss and a groan comes from between his legs, which are hidden by a thick, red comforter.

“Oh my  _ god _ .” Shiro pants at the ceiling, heartbeat rushing as he realizes the warm heat is a  _ mouth _ . And not just any mouth -  _ Keith’s _ mouth. And that last night wasn’t just his brain supplying him with an amazing fantasy, but it actually  _ happened _ .

The mouth pulls off his cock with a wet sound and a soft chuckle vibrates along the rigid edge, “Just Keith is fine.”

Shiro can only stutter out a moan as Keith goes down on him again.

Strong, tiny hands keep his thighs spread and that tongue is a menace with every rise and fall of his head. Shiro can’t see a goddamn thing through the sheets, but he  _ can _ see the shifting of Keith’s body and the motion of every upstroke.

He swallows thickly and tangles both of his hands in Keith’s hair, giving into the molten heat.

Keith moans around him, hands tightening.

Shiro tugs at his scalp and the moan comes again, lips fluttering around the tip of his cock, “You like that?” He drags his hands along Keith’s scalp to the longer hair at the base of his neck. His fingers skim over the skin.

Keith gasps and pulls off his cock, lips frantic and slick as he tries to muffle his sounds in the dip of Shiro’s groin.

“Sensitive.” Shiro murmurs, dragging his nails over the back of Keith’s neck before wrapping his fingers in dark hair, “Keep going.”

Keith keens softly, mouth dragging along the underside of Shiro’s cock until the tip slips back between his lips.

Shiro can’t even remember the last time he recived a blow job, but he knows it was nowhere near as fantastic as this one.

He loathes the twinge of jealousy that sneaks to the surface at the idea of Keith doing this to  _ anyone _ .

Instead, he shoves it down and rides the slick, wet heat of Keith’s mouth to a glorious finish. One that Keith swallows without complaint before sucking a bruise into the skin of Shiro’s belly.

Shiro shoves up to his elbows, chest pumping from the aftermath and in desperate need of a shower. But first -

Keith shimmies out from under the covers and the deep red of them disappears behind the perfect rise of his ass. The tattoo shifts like an ethereal being in the dim light peeking through the curtains as he rests one of his arms across Shiro’s stomach.

Shiro’s cock is soft and wet with cum and spit in the dip of Keith’s chest, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind.

He lifts a hand to Shiro’s face, thumb pressing to his bottom lip, “Good?”

Shiro swallows and nods, knowing full well his face is bright red, “Yea.” he croaks.

Keith’s smile is small, timid, completely at odds with the cocky, self-assured grin Shiro’s seen since their odd partnership began.

This Keith is gentle in the early morning light.

Shiro’s traitorous heart skips.

“Need me to -.” Shiro’s eyes drop down to watch the arch of Keith’s spine, renewed hunger curling low and welcome at the thought of watching that tattoo flex and ripple as he takes Keith from behind.

Keith’s soft smile bleeds into a smirk, “I took care of myself.”

And Shiro’s arousal flares once more at the knowledge that Keith got himself off with Shiro’s cock in his mouth.

Shiro cups a hand around the back of Keith’s neck and drags him forward for a kiss.

Dangerous. Stupid.

Keith opens for him like a flower, lips parting on a moan and body sinking into Shiro’s as though they belong in one skin.

The shrill ring of Shiro’s phone breaks them apart. He looks to the side table, only to find it’s not coming from the bedroom, but from the living room.

Where all of their stuff was still strewn all over Keith’s floor.

“That’ll be Pidge.” Shiro clears his throat, “Needing the syringe -.”

Keith slips away silently, naked as the day he was born and unashamed as he walks to his closet in search of clothes.

Shiro ignores the sticky mess around his cock and rushes from the room on unsteady legs. His phone is vibrating across the floor, Pidge’s secret number bright on the screen. He snatches it up and puts it to his ear.

“Shirogane.”

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Pidge’s fast vernacular makes his head spin, “I’m texting you the location here in a few minutes. Matt’s going to be with me, is that okay?”

Shiro swallows and casts a shy glance in the direction of Keith’s room, “Uh yea. That’s good. Case stuff.”

“Uh huh.” Pidge says slowly, “You okay?”

Shiro can see Keith walk past the bedroom door, still naked, but holding clothes over his arm. He casts an inviting look over his shoulder as he heads towards the bathroom.

“Yep.” Shiro squeaks, “Last night was pretty wild.”

And he wasn’t talking about the -

“Wait - don’t tell me that was  _ you _ leading the high speed motorcycle chase!” Pidge shouts.

Yea, that.

“Text me the location, Pidge.” Shiro clears his throat.

“Why do you get to have all the fun?” She moans as he cuts the line.

  
  
  


-

  
  


They meet Pidge and Matt in the tiny park under the outer city bridge. Shiro follows the instructions from her text as they walk the tiny, winding trails through thick cherry trees and under the roaring interstate above.

Keith is quiet as they walk, flicking through his phone and only glancing up when Shiro makes a turn on the trail.

He hasn’t said anything about their quick tryst from last night or sleeping in the same bed or the stellar BJ. In fact, Keith’s only words were ‘want some coffee to go?’ before they packaged the syringe in a ziplock bag and headed out.

And Shiro shouldn’t care that Keith’s pretty much treating this like a one-time deal. It  _ is _ a one time deal. A serious lapse in judgement on Shiro’s part and if anyone finds out he  _ slept _ with his criminal charge, he’s going to end up canned.

“That them?” Keith asks, pointing his phone at two figures standing at the edge of the waterway.

Shiro doesn’t miss the unmistakable resemblance between the two siblings. Matt and Katie could be twins if there wasn’t such an age difference.

Matt notices them first, as Pidge is waving her hands around and explaining something to her brother. Shiro doesn’t miss the way Matt’s eyes narrow in on Keith as they approach.

He does, however, pull Shiro into a firm, grounding hug. One Shiro sorely needed after almost a month undercover.

“Pidge says you two gave the cops a run last night.” Matt grins roguishly.

“It was Shiro’s idea.” Keith jerks a thumb his way with a smirk, “It was either that or let the dude go free.”

“He did go free.” Shiro frowns.

“Did he?” Keith asks innocently.

Shiro peers down at him, “We can discuss that cryptic comment later.” He turns to Pidge and Matt, “Was the addict taken into custody?”

Matt nods sharply and crosses his arms over his chest, “He’s currently detoxing in the drunk tank right now while we try to contact his family. So far, the dude barely exists.” He waves a hand sharply, “But he’s absolutely insane.”

“He didn't start out that way.” Shiro digs around in the inner lining of his jacket and pulls out the ziplock bag with the syringe, “Our runaway seller dropped this.”

Pidge snatches it from him, eyes narrowed behind her wide-rimmed glasses, “This stuff is thick.” She purses her lips, “Almost syrupy.”

“We need to know what’s in it.” Keith points out.

“Why?” Matt asks.

“Because someone is using my name to sell it.” Keith hisses, “Whatever this shit is, it’s toxic and I don’t want my brand associated with it.”

“Don’t think you need to worry about your  _ brand _ much longer, pal.” Matt snorts.

“The dude is manic.” Pidge shoves her brother out of his sneering match with Keith, “Paranoid. With huge bouts of aggression. Claiming he’s seeing purple aliens and forked symbols. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”

“And -” Matt cuts in, “The dude didn’t  _ buy _ it from your escapee.” He rubs his forefinger and thumb together, “He  _ was paid _ to take it.”

“ _ What _ ?” Shiro hisses along with Keith.

“Yep.” Matt pops the ‘P’, “He had about a grand in his pockets.”

Keith shoves a hand through his hair and snarls.

“He knew who you were.” Shiro murmurs, rubbing his chin and casting his eyes at Keith, watching him pace the grassy river edge, “The druggie. He went for you first.”

“Like he was forced to.” Keith pauses, “But drugs don’t just make people docile enough to take orders.”

Pidge lifts the bag into the air between them, “But maybe this one does.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


While they wait for Pidge’s analysis, Keith has a dozen and one things to do the remaining week. Shiro follows him through the bowels of the inner city, checking drop off locations and warehouses holding a mind-boggling amount of weaponry.

The quiet moments during car rides and in between stops, it’s easy to forget that Keith isn’t just a normal criminal.

He’s one of three massive mafia empires that needs to be shut down.

And it’s Shiro’s job to make sure that happens.

Except he’s easy to talk to and strong-willed in his views of the world. Shiro wants to resist the urge to like him, but it’s hard when Keith shoots him those ruggedly handsome grins and engages him in conversation.

It also doesn’t help that Keith -  _ touches _ him.

Small, inconsequential touches that send goosebumps along Shiro’s arm. A palm to his elbow, fingers brushing over the top of his hand. They’re all infuriatingly innocent, but Shiro can’t help the roaring, feral attraction that rides the tail of every touch.

And he  _ is _ attracted to Keith. Painfully so, if he’s being perfectly honest.

He’s caught himself staring at the back of Keith neck, dark hair shifting with every movement and exposing the pale line of flesh. He remembers the sounds he gained from touching it. How warm it was under his fingers and the trembling breaths against his cock.

“We’ve arrived.” The drivers voice is casual and cuts through Shiro's thoughts like a knife.

He startles and looks up as Keith climbs out first, slipping his cellphone into the back of his pants as he exits.

Shiro follows, eyes roving the simple housing community they’ve arrived at. It’s unassuming and perfect, with bright green lawns and a smattering of white fences. There’s a man watering a landscaped garden a few houses down and barely spares them a glance.

“Where are we?” Shiro murmurs.

“We tracked the seller here.” Keith replies.

Well, that answers his cryptic, smirky comment from their meet up with Pidge.

Shiro scowls, “You can’t keep me out of the loop like that.”

Keith returns the scowl quickly, spinning on his heel and slapping a hand to Shiro’s chest, “I can  _ do _ whatever the hell I want.”

Shiro inhales sharply, anger simmering, “He needs to be in police custody.”

“Not until I’ve figured out who he works for.” Keith snaps.

“Keith -.”

“No.” Keith leans into his space, voice low and biting, “You can’t act like a cop in my world. You can’t throw your weight around and demand shit go your way.” He balls his hand into a fist until only a finger is pressing against Shiro’s chest, “You want to figure how who’s behind this? We do this  _ my _ way.”

“You’re way adds more years to your sentence.” Shiro hisses, “I report our actions almost daily to the FBI, Keith.”

“ _ All _ of them?” Keith’s eyes go dark and now he really is as close as he can get inside Shiro’s bubble. The finger on his chest drags up slowly, rolling effortlessly into a palm that glides around the back of Shiro’s neck, “You tell them about the kiss? The sex? How you begged and moaned while I got you off?”

Shiro’s skin tingles and heat crawls up to his cheeks at the memory, “That’s -.”

“Who’s going to be in the most trouble when this is over?” Keith purrs, fingers toying with the hairs at the base of his skull and sending shivers down his spine, “Me or  _ you _ ?”

Shiro snatches Keith’s arm with his metal hand and yanks it away. Surprise flashes across Keith’s face as he squeezes and leans forward, “You are.” Shiro says, “Because whatever happened -  _ didn’t _ happen and even  _ if _ it did, it won’t be happening again.” He tosses the arm aside, “It’s your word against mine.”

Shiro is expecting Keith to back off. To step into line and agree.

But he knows better and the slow, curling smirk Keith gives in reply is  _ not _ sexy.

Keith doesn’t say anything, just rolls his wrist a bit and leads them inside the house.

The door is unlocked and it’s empty of furniture and warmth. The foyer is dark, walls baren and staircase leading up into a black abyss despite it being mid-day.

Keith takes the long foyer to a door beneath the staircase. It leads to a basement; the only illuminated room in the house.

Axca is waiting at the bottom, arms crossed over her chest and looking no more amused than Shiro feels about the whole situation.

The seller is tied up in a chair, zip ties holding each limb in place. He looks rough for wear, eyes darting wilding at the ceiling and nose bleeding. His fingers keep curling into fists around the arm of the chair, fingertips and nails ruined from scraping across the wood. 

“You’re late for the party.” Axca murmurs as they walk up. She points to an open puncture wound in the crook of his elbow. It looks fresh and there are quickly purpling bruises forming on his skin in the shape of fingerprints.

“Someone forced the drug on him.” Shiro shoves a hand into his hair.

“You tie him up?” Keith asks.

Axca nods once, “Yea. He tried to fight. Stronger than any drug addict I’ve ever dealt with.”

“Did he say anything?” Shiro circles the chair, frown maring his features as the man sways and mutters ineligible words at the ceiling.

Axca’s eyes drift from Keith to Shiro, “Nonsense about purple beings and a fork. He’s been quiet since I tied him up.”

Shiro can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s saying it quickly under his breath. He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a set of gloves. He snaps one over his prosthetic hand and grips the man’s chin between his fingers.

Bloodshot eyes roll down to meet his gaze.

“What’s your name?” Shiro asks firmly.

“I thought he was just a bodyguard?” Shiro hears Axca mumble.

Keith hums thoughtfully, “He’s a package deal apparently. Shoulda seen him take this guy down in the club that night.”

“You find yourself the most interesting people.” Axca returns fondly.

“It’s a gift.”

The man mumbles uselessly in Shiro’s face, breath reeking of iron. Shiro drags his bottom lip down and winces. The gums are bloody.

“This drug is insane.” Shiro says.

“Takes me toooo the moooon.” The seller laughs, strangely coherent all of a sudden. He sways into Shiro’s space, grin spreading across his features like some sort of maniacal cartoon villain, “I didn’t believe them when they said it would show me a  _ whole new universe _ .”

“Who are they?” Shiro keeps his tone neutral.

“Purple aliens.” The man stage whispers, blood leaking out the corners of his mouth as he speaks, “They wear forks on their faces and they tell me there’s treasure at the end of the rainbow.”

Pidge wasn’t kidding about the delusions.

“Who -.” Shiro demands, “Are they?”

“ _ Aliens _ .” The man hisses.

That’s a dead end, Shiro begrudges and moves on, “What’s the name of the drug?”

“Shhhhh.” The man purses his lips, “The secret of the  _ quintessence _ is not to be revealed.”

“I can keep a secret.” Shiro promises.

“The aliens made me swear not to tell.” A sob escapes and the mans face crumbles, “They’ll kill me if I tell. Their fingers are like spiders! They crawl across my skin.” His eyes go wide and he looks down at his tied arms, “ _ They’re here! _ ”

Shiro takes a step back as he begins thrashing around in the chair.

“Adrenaline. Paranoia. Hallucinations.” He clenches his fist, “It’s almost as if the drug  _ cycles _ .”

“What? Like a time release?” Keith steps forward, a furrow between his brows, “It’s a liquid injection, is that even possible?”

Shiro shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

“And who knows how many other levels he went through before I arrived.” Axca tosses in, “He fought like a man possessed.”

Said man starts shrieking about spiders at the top of his lungs. His fingers claw and clench at the arms, head rolling around and blood pouring from the clenched strain of his teeth.

Shiro’s seen a lot of drug reactions in his time as a cop. None of them pretty - but this - 

The screams grow louder.

“Shut him up.” Keith orders.

The crack of a gunshot causes Shiro to jump.

The screaming stops and the mans head lolls backwards.

Axca clears the chamber of her gun and shoves it back into its holster, “I hope we got something at least.” She moves around to grab a black duffle bag from a table on the left.

Shiro’s heart is still racing as he watches Axca bring out numerous tools to clean and dispose of a body. 

“So.” Keith’s shoulder brushes against his arm, “We got a name.”

“Quintessence.” Shiro says carefully, “An awfully elegant name for a drug that does so much damage.”

“Elegant and made with a purpose.” Keith notes.

“If that purpose is to smear your reputation by tainting it with this -  _ garbage _ -.” Axca sneers, “Then they’re succeeding.”

“Only just.” Keith says, “We’re still further ahead than the cops and that’s what matters.”

Shiro watches Axca work. It’s a memorized motion. She’s done this many, many times before. Not a thing about it fazes her and Keith nonchalantly checks his phone as she moves around and strips the seller of his clothes.

“Nothing from Romelle about the identity of the addict.” Keith informs.

“She’ll figure it out.” Axca ties off the bag of clothes, pulls out a knife next, “May want to leave boss.”

Keith laughs softly, “As if I haven’t done this shit myself.”

“Yea.” She grins, “But you’re not supposed to get your hands dirty anymore.” A wink and a shooing motion with her hands, “That’s what you hired me for. Get.”

“Yea yea.” Keith wraps a hand around Shiro’s elbow and pulls him up the stairs. He pauses though, a step below Shiro and turns back to the basement, “Be careful, Axca.”

“Always.” She looks up at Keith with a reverence Shiro feels is too personal for him to be privy to.

He continues up the stairs quietly, then checks the hall before allowing Keith to go through the door after him. The house is quiet as they walk the length of foyer back to the front door. Their footsteps carry across wood and the silence sets Shiro’s teeth on edge.

Awareness itches under his skin and his fingers twitch towards the handle of the gun hidden in the shoulder holster under his suit.

The door is only a few feet away, but it feels like miles. His head is full of the sellers screams, the drugs influence, Keith and Axca’s easy-going attitude towards the murder and disposal of another human being.

He misses the figure hiding in the living room.

Keith doesn’t and blocks the downswing of what looks to be a baseball bat. His gloved hand connects with the barrel, surprise crossing his face for only a moment before twisting it out of the figures grip.

Whoever it is yelps and tries to run.

Shiro crosses the hall in two long strides, hand gripping around a slim throat and shoving the offending party into a wall, “Who are you?”

A bright purple hoodie falls back, revealing a young woman. Her hair is dyed a steely grey and she’s young - terribly so.

Shiro loosens his grip and she slides down the wall, jacket bunching up around her back.

“What are you doing here?” Keith demands.

Her watery eyes dart between the two of them, “I - I was -.” A small backpack is clutched against her midsection, knuckles white and nail polish chipped, “I was meeting someone.”

Shiro inhales, “Are you here for the drug?”

She bites into her bottom lip, then blurts out, “I need the money!” Her fingers twist into the fabric of the pack, “All we have to do is test it.”

“You’re being  _ paid _ to inject yourself with a drug?” Keith hisses, “That’s barbaric.”

“Yea.” She clenches her teeth, “Not all of us can afford to pay our bills.”

“So throwing away your life is a good alternative?” Shiro asks, “This drug is  _ dangerous _ .”

“My brother needs food!” She snarls.

“What use are you to him if you’re  _ dead _ ?” Keith snaps.

Shiro puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes. The tension in his shoulders loosen, but his gaze remains narrowed and intense.

“What’s your name?”Shiro inquires softly.

She swallows audibly, “S-Shay.”

“Alright, Shay.” Shiro gives Keith’s shoulder one more squeeze before allowing it to fall down the back of his shoulder blade, “I’m going to get you some help.”

“No.” She gasps, tripping over her feet as she skitters along the wall, “I can’t - I need to get back to -.”

“The cops can -.” Shiro tries, but Keith sends him a sharp, angry look.

“No cops!” Shay shouts, standing her ground.

“No cops.” Keith holds up a placating hand, “How about a different job?”

“ _ What _ ?” Shiro hisses.

“Axca!” Keith calls out.

The stairs of the basement creak as Axca climbs to the doorway. Her head peeks around the corner.

Keith puts a hand on Shay’s shoulder and nudges her forward, “Axca will bring you to my associate Romelle and she’ll get you and your brother set up.”

“I - what?” Shay glances back at him.

Keith shoos her along and Axca takes the girl by her elbow and leads her through the basement doorway.

“Keith, what the hell?” Shiro watches Keith as he picks up the bat, tosses it over his shoulder and walks out the front door.

Shiro follows him, temper boiling close to the surface. He keeps his fists clenched at his sides until they climb back into the car.

Keith taps twice on the divider and the engine vibrates to life beneath them. He pulls out his phone a split second later, fingers dancing quickly across the surface.

Shiro grinds his teeth, “Keith.”

Dark eyes flick up for half a second before returning to the phone screen.

Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath and tries again, “ _ Keith _ .”

“Yea?” Keith asks.

“Did you just hire a gun mule in front of an  _ detective _ ?”

“I did.” A smirk tugs at the corner of Keith’s mouth, “She’ll do well, I’m sure. Romelle will handle everything else.”

Shiro reaches out and snatches the phone from Keith’s hands, “That is not why I asked and you know it.”

The infuriating smirk stays in place, “Don’t get your holster in a twist, Shirogane.” He tugs the slim device out of Shiro’s hands, “I do it all the time.”

“You’re going to get her killed.” Shiro lowers his voice, “She needs to go to -.”

“The authorities?” Keith cuts in, “Your precinct? The feds?” He lifts an eyebrow, “So my people can ask ‘hey Kogane, where did that drug seller go? What about the buyer?’ and then I have to say ‘oh that’s right, I have a goody-two shoes  _ cop _ following me around’.”

Shiro curls his fingers into the fabric of his pants, “You’re only digging your hole deeper.”

“And you are exceptionally sexy when you’re wound up.” Keith leans forward, smirk bleeding into a curious smile and slim fingers dancing up Shiro’s thigh.

Shiro snatches the hand, “Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“Why should I?” Keith murmurs, eyes dipping down to stare at Shiro’s mouth, “The result will be the same.” His tongue darts out and Shiro follows it instinctively, stomach twisting with arousal even as he tries to stamp it out, “No harm in having a little fun before I go.”

“I think you and I have different definitions of ‘fun’.” Shiro swallows.

Keith’s laugh is low and breathy as he presses it against the seam of Shiro’s mouth. It’s only a teasing skim, a test of the waters Shiro tried to smooth out in front of the sellers drug headquarters.

Shiro means to say something when he parts his lips. He means to wrap his hands around Keith’s shoulders and set him firmly on his section of the seat. He means to draw a sharp, permanent line between them for the rest of the goddamn case.

Except Keith’s tongue finds its way inside and Shiro’s hands don’t push, but pull Keith into his lap.

Keith undulates against him, a moan bleeding between them as his hands delve into Shiro’s hair. His mouth is fever hot and frantic and Shiro goes for the zipper on the leather jacket Keith is wearing.

It takes him far too much time to find skin. He’s distracted by the - quite frankly  _ illegal _ \- way Keith kisses and the scrape of nails at the base of his hairline.

When he does get his hands on warm skin, Keith shivers in his lap, mouth opening on a gasp and knees tightening around Shiro’s hips.

Shiro can’t fight the grin as his hands slide up the smooth line of Keith’s back. Keith breaks the kiss with a huff and shifts around, both of their erections brushing behind the flies of their pants.

Shiro hisses and digs his nails into Keith’s shoulder blades, eyes trained on the scrunched lines of Keith’s face as he drags them down to the dip of his spine.

Keith lets out a warbled moan, head tipping back and fingers tangling in Shiro’s hair.

Shiro goes for the exposed line of his throat and sucks a dark bruise into the skin. A wave of possessiveness follows as he nips his way along Keith’s collarbone. He tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the steady grind of Keith in his lap and the searing pleasure coating his insides.

But Keith catches his mouth in another kiss and it’s just as possessive - just as claiming as the mark on his neck.

Shiro tries not to find solace in that.

Keith undoes the last button on Shiro’s shirt and spreads it apart. He drags his hands over Shiro’s chest, bottom lip caught in his teeth. His thumbs find Shiro’s nipples and Shiro’s hands tighten on Keith’s hips.

“Yea?” Keith’s voice is low and secretive, “Mine are sensitive too.”

And now Shiro is imagining his mouth sucking on Keith’s chest - littering it with bruises and teeth marks until the man is nothing but an incoherent mess. It’s borderline indecent. Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever stopped and taken the time to pull someone apart with his mouth alone.

As he watches Keith slide down to the floor board and settle between his knees - Shiro knows there’s a first time for everything.

“Wait - What are you doing?” Shiro closes his hands around Keith’s wrist as his fingers pop the button on his pants.

His cock draws an indecent outline between his legs and it twitches at the prospect of Keith’s agile little hands wrapping around it. But Shiro can feel embarrassment creeping up the sides of his neck, eyes flicking towards the barely tinted divider between Keith’s driver and them.

“He won’t care.” Keith’s wrists flex in his grip, “Let me suck you off again, Shiro.”

Shiro’s fingers spasm as he swallows.

Keith’s eyes are half-lidded, expression hungry as he waits.

And Shiro, like the fool he is, releases Keith’s hands.

Keith practically dives for Shiro’s zipper. His fingers deft and practiced as he finds the slit in Shiro’s boxers and pulls the hard line of his cock out into the open.

Keith’s fingers are cold, but the leather covering his palm is warm as it circles the base and sets it straight up.

Shiro doesn’t even have time to go from one thought to the next before he’s biting back a groan as Keith closes his mouth around the head.

One hand goes to the handle above the door and the other sinks into Keith’s hair.

Keith purrs around his cock, tongue rolling as his free hand paws at Shiro’s chest. He finds a nipple and twists, mouth sinking down further as Shiro shouts.

The handle strains under his grip but it’s the only lifeline Shiro has as he watches Keith swallow him whole.

There was no visual last time. Just sensation and heat and the scent of Keith’s sheets.

Now - now he gets a front row seat to the most gorgeous man on the planet giving him a sloppy, backseat blow job.

Keith’s cheeks are tinted red and his lips are swollen from kisses and being stretched around Shiro’s girth. But he shows no signs of slowing as his eyelashes flutter and his low, wounded moans send shivers of heat into Shiro’s abdomen.

“Look at you.” Shiro breathes reverently, tangling his hands in Keith’s locks and twisting just enough that those dark violet eyes have to focus on him, “You love this.”

Keith lets out a shaky sound and pulls off to pepper sticky kisses up and down the length of his vein.

“You do this to all the cops you meet, Keith?” Shiro hears the dark tint to his own voice as he tugs at Keith’s scalp, “That how you’ve evaded us for so long? So eager to get on your knees for me.”

Keith’s lips tremble and his free hand disappears below the seat.

Shiro hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down and the hurried rustle of fabric. Then, Keith’s mouth opens over the head of Shiro’s cock, breath hot as a low, gorgeous moan swallows him down.

Shiro yanks at Keith’s hair again, thighs tensing as he watches Keith’s other arm jerk and twist between his legs.

Shiro wishes he could see it. Dark leather and pale fingers rubbing along the hard length of himself, skin flushed under the layers of clothing.

“Good -.” Shiro murmurs, “You’re so good.” He finds the soft skin of Keith’s neck and lightly drags his nails along the edge.

Keith shouts around him, arm moving faster and mouth growing slicker.

“Is this enough to get you off?” Shiro whispers wondrously, watching the spread of Keith’s blush disappear under the collar of his jacket.

Shiro moves his hand lower, right at the base, and curls his hand around the back of Keith’s neck. He squeezes once - just enough to leave bruises later - and watches in fascinated pleasure as a full body shiver racks Keith’s body and the motion of his arm stops cold.

“ _ Keith _ .” Shiro gasps, pleasure spiking as he watches Keith come all over the floorboard of his car.

Keith doesn’t stop, despite the shivers as his arm starts moving again - squeezing out the last of his pleasure. His mouth continues to sink up and down, wet with spit and borderline desperate as he drags Shiro over his own shaky edge.

The backseat is a heated, sex-scented box as they both stutter through shaky, post-orgasm breaths.

Shiro’s arm is sore from the strain of holding the ‘oh shit’ handle above the door. He feels sticky under his clothes and completely wrung out after an already long day.

Keith pulls off his cock gently, tucking it back through the slit of his boxers and leaving a kiss of farewell over the softening bulge.

Shiro’s laugh is thick as he collapses against the seat and drops his head back, “This is insane.”

“What’s insane is that you haven’t fucked me yet.” Keith pouts.

“We really,  _ really _ shouldn’t.” Shiro mumbles.

“But you will.” Keith draps his arm over Shiro’s thigh and rests his head on it, “Won’t you?”

Shiro drops his gaze to meet Keith’s.

This is where he needs to draw that line.

This is where he needs to  _ stop. _

The car pulls to a halt before he can get an answer past his lips.

Keith sits up straight and reaches down to hurriedly tuck his cock back inside his pants.

Shiro hears Romelle’s heels too little too late and sunlight floods the backseat of the car as she throws the door open.

Shiro freezes, fingers halfway to zipping his pants back up and Keith is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Romelle’s eyes narrow dangerously, “Hm.  **Well** .”

Fear curls through Shiro like poison.

“When you two are  _ done _ ,” She frowns down at them, “I’ll meet you in the apartment. We’ve run into a problem.”

The door snaps shut.

“Oops.” Keith grins.

Shiro bangs his head against the window.

 

-

  
  


Shiro half fears for his life as both him and Keith step into the apartment a while later. He’s tugging his jacket off and Keith is tossing his own over the back of the couch as they round the corner.

Romelle is at the bar in the kitchen, a tumblr of dark liquid tipped back against her mouth.

“It’s not that bad.” Keith squints at her.

She slams the glass down and both of them flinch, “Are you seriously sleeping with your bodyguard, Keith?!” She flicks her free hand at Shiro irritably.

“Regris was shot?” Keith tries with a shrug.

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit.” She pours another finger of bourbon, “I can not believe you two.”

“I’m a big boy.” Keith slides onto one of the barstools, “Whose dick I put in my mouth really isn’t your business.”

Romelle scowls at him and throws back the second tumblr.

Shiro hovers at the edge of the bar - fingers taping over the granite in a nervous gesture.

“You said we have a problem.” Shiro clears his throat, “Is Keith in danger?”

“No.” She snaps, “Well - maybe.” She sets the glass on the counter again and takes a deep breath, “Regris was brought into the precinct as soon as he was released from the hospital.”

“Please tell me you were able to intercept him before then.” Keith groans.

“Of course.” She swats at his hand as he tries to grab the bourbon for himself, “But I couldn’t avoid police confrontation.”

“Is he under suspicion?” Shiro asks.

“I’m good at my job,  _ Jiro _ .” Romelle sniffs haughtily, “I’ve made sure Regris has a squeaky clean record. He hires our staff.”

Shiro feels ten years old under her stare.

“The  _ problem _ -,” She continues, “Is Regris recognized the man they brought in from the club that night. The one the drug was given to.”

“Well who is he?” There’s impatience in Keith’s tone.

“HE,” Romelle pours another finger of the dark booze and slides it across the counter to Keith, “Is one of ours.”

Shiro watches Keith’s hand freeze above the glass, “They’re using  _ my _ people to distribute the drug?”

Romelle nods once, “Yes.”

“Shit.” Keith throws back the drink.

“Why though?” Romelle taps a finger to her chin, “I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

Shiro knows.

But he can’t say anything until he knows for sure.

“I’ll be right back.” Shiro murmurs, pushing away from the bar and making his way in the direction of his bedroom.

He can feel Keith’s gaze burning into his back until he moves out of sight.

The modified phone Pidge gave him is charging on the bedside table. He picks it up and finds Pidge’s coded number right under the FBI’s latest message of ‘update by midnight’.

**S:** _ do any of the jane and john does have any trace of that drug on or in them? _

It takes a few minutes, but she replies.

**P** :  _ no. but I do have the final results if you’re interested. _

**S** :  _ forward what you have. whoever is distributing this is using kogane’s weapon dealers as guinea pigs. _

He gets the ping of an email a minute later, then -

**P** :  _ you ever think kogane is the one doing all of this? to lessen his sentence? _

Shiro’s fingers spasm around the phone and his throat tightens.

No.

Keith wouldn’t do that.

Shiro’s eyes lift to stare at the doorway. He can hear Keith and Romelle speaking in soft tones in the apartment beyond.

**S** :  _ no _

**P** :  _ he’s a criminal, shiro. you can’t trust anything he says or does. _

Shiro places the phone gently on the table and sinks into the plush sheets of his bed. He rubs his hands down his face and closes his eyes.

He knows that. He  _ knows _ he can’t trust Keith.

But his mind is swimming with post-orgasm bliss and the soft way Keith looks at him in the aftermath.

If it’s a trap, he’s already standing in it.

And he’s not sure he wants to escape.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An awesome artist on twitter said 'Keith loves to suck cock' and I thought 'Hmm. He totally does.'
> 
> So you get Keith sucking cock twice in one chapter. You're welcome.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a little bit of time, but this story is back on track.
> 
> _Enjoy_

**Six**   
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

“You look nervous.”

Shiro shoots a customary glance up at the agent sitting across from him. He has the case files spread out under his palms. All the information he’s been feeding the FBI about Keith’s drop offs and the murders rests on the chrome interrogation table. 

But nothing on the drug.

Keith swore him to silence and Pidge insisted they keep a tight lid on it until she could actually  _ detect _ the drug on a toxicology report.

The results had been inconclusive. Not a single one of the murdered victims had a trace of the purple substance on or in them. And the criminal Regris recognized at the club died from a brain hemorrhage the moment he was admitted into the hospital.

Pidge tried for weeks to request an anonymous autopsy, but the body seemed to have just disappeared.

“Do I?” Shiro asks lightly, flipping to the newest murder scene, “I don’t feel nervous.”

“Most undercover agents get antsy when we bring them in for evaluation.” The agents voice is calm - too calm.

“Most are probably worried the inner circle will suspect something.” Shiro drags his gaze across the mutilated body of another young woman, “Kogane struck a deal and his subordinates don’t care who or where I am as long as he says so.”

“True.” The agent agrees. He crosses his hands one over the other, “But from what I hear, Kogane is a very  _ persuasive _ man.”

“Got many undercover cops in Kogane’s folds, agent Reynolds?” Shiro lifts an eyebrow.

“Just word of mouth.” Reynolds replies flippantly, “Any leads to the murders?”

“Only that it’s more than one person committing them.” Shiro says, “There’s no feasible way to kill so many people in this time frame.” He pulls out a vicinity map of the city, “That on top of distances, the killing patterns, and  _ how _ each victim was killed are all different. Like a fingerprint.”

Reynolds puts his chin over his knuckles, “You’re telling me each of these victims have a different killer?”

Shiro nods tightly, “That’s my theory.”

One he hasn’t even divulged to Keith.

“At first I thought it was a hired group.” Shiro steeples his fingers, “But I scratched that out with how erratic the killings were. A group would be a tad bit more organized.”

Reynolds hums, “So, how are they connected?”

“I believe the - factions -” Shiro chooses his words carefully, “Are at war.”

Reynolds gives a minute nod, “An attempt at being king of the hill.” He scoffs, “Typical.”

“Kogane doesn’t seem to have any interest in eliminating his competition.” Shiro mutters, tapping the crime scene photos, “As most of these victims are part of his syndicate.” It’s risky, revealing information of this magnitude so early in his investigation, but Reynolds takes it in stride and with no change to his features.

“Explains why they are mostly jane and john doe’s.” Reynolds huffs, “They’re practically invisible. Our specialists are working overtime tracking down next of kin.” His eyes lift up to meet Shiro’s, “But I suspect Kogane is keeping that quiet.”

“For the most part.” Shiro admits.

“Hm.” Reynolds taps his forefingers together, “Get me what you can on each victims next of kin. We can at least start contacting the families and monitor activity for arrest warrants once this whole mess is dealt with.”

Shiro frowns, “I don’t think Kogane is going to agree to that.”

“Tough shit.” Reynolds points a finger at him, “Every time he denies us access to something, I add more years to his sentence. You can tell him I said that.” The chair scrapes across the interrogation room floor as he stands, “And don’t think I didn’t see that high speed stunt you pulled, Shirogane.”

Shiro struggles to keep his ego contained, “No risk, no reward, sir.”

Reynolds lip curls, “Kolivan told me you were the best. His most disciplined officer.” He begins to gather up the folders and evidence from the table, “But you’re no better than any other cop. Get a little taste of skirting the law and it all falls apart.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow curiously, “You think I’m in too deep? A few _ months _ in?”

“I’m saying -.” Reynolds tucks the folders up under his arm, “That good cops go down harder.”

“I’m not a good  _ cop _ .” Shiro rises to his full height and he towers over the agent, “I’m Kolivan’s best  _ detective _ .”

Reynold’s scoffs and heads for the door, “I’ll hold you to that, Shirogane. You’re free to leave.”

Shiro steps past him and out into the hallway.

The center is nothing like his precinct. 

It’s just a small, hole in the wall building used for under the radar investigative work. It reeks of bleach and stale coffee and the workers milling about look ten years older than they probably are.

Shiro tenses at the realization that most of these people are undercover.

Some for months - others for years.

They don’t even look like cops anymore. They barely even look  _ human _ .

Shiro’s hand goes up to touch the dyed ends of his hair and wonders how much of a stranger he must have looked to Pidge and Matt a few weeks ago. He’s been Matt’s partner the better part of six years. He’s never changed his hair color and his clothes are always regulation strict. His whole life revolved around discipline and order.

It stings to know that discipline cost him the warmth of Matt and Pidge’s shared two bedroom apartment. Filled with their mothers blankets and plenty of furniture. Or Allura and Lance’s small condo on the outskirts of town.

All places he’s been to and felt welcome in.

But his home has always been - empty. The single box of items taken from his desk was proof of that.

He doesn’t even remember if there was anything important  _ inside _ his own apartment.

Shiro slips through the lobby and signs out at the front desk, fingers tense and chest squeezing. He can hear men and women chatting around him, discussing their cases without really discussing the case.

He’d never really noticed how bereft and barren his whole life was until Keith breezed in. A man so unapologetically aggressive and bright. Buying Shiro ridiculously expensive clothes and pampering him with his massive apartment and rich coffees and foods.

Keith’s painted Shiro’s entire life red in a matter of months.

Shiro sets the pen down and strides out of the building with as much confidence as he can muster.

The sky grows dark with storm clouds, he can smell rain in the air. A drop hits his nose and he scrunches it up in irritation. He wipes it away and walks another two blocks before pulling out his cell and calling for Keith’s driver to pick him up.

Thunder begins to rumble just as the black sedan glides up along the curb. The world around him is dark and muggy and grey as he reaches out for the handle. 

It pops open before he can wrap his hand around it.

Shiro steps back as the door pushes out and his world is suddenly flooded with color.

Violet eyes, a tilted, rosy smirk and a blood-red leather jacket, “Have fun?”

Shiro lifts an eyebrow dubiously, “You know I can’t tell you that.” He frowns, “Were you waiting for me this whole time?”

Keith grins, “Might’ve been.” He shrugs a shoulder and scoots back across the seats, “Gotta few more things to do before we call it a day.”

Shiro ducks inside the car and pulls the door shut behind him.

The sky opens up just as they pull away.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“No.”

Shiro rubs both hands down his face and lets out a hiss, “Keith. You need to give me  _ something _ .”

Keith rounds on him and there’s a fire in his eyes that simmers Shiro’s frustration level to a low boil, “I am not giving  _ anyone _ family information.” He jams a finger into Shiro’s chest repeatedly, “I will not betray my people like that.”

“They’re just going to keep asking.” Shiro hisses, “Do you want to be in jail for the rest of your life?”

Keith scowls, “ _ I’m _ going to jail. Not them.  _ Me _ .”

“Criminals don’t get a free pass just because their bosses are locked up.” Shiro stands his ground.

“My job is to keep their families safe.” Keith hisses, “You’re asking me to risk their safety by releasing information to the feds?” He waves a hand, “There are dozens of moles inside every precinct and federal district in the state. Do you realize what they could do with that information?”

Shiro grits his teeth, “Find the ones responsible and lock them up?”

“ _ Sell _ it to the highest bidding rival gang.” Keith growls, “You think the body count is high now? Wait until the sloppy, second rate syndicates get a hold of my dossier.”

Shiro sinks into the sofa and buries his face in his hands, “Every time you ignore a request, they add more time to your sentence.”

“Isn’t it your goal to put me away for the rest of my life?” Keith scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I doubt two blow jobs and a handy managed to change your mind.”

Shiro scowls up at him over the tops of his fingers.

“I can’t solve this case if you’re being difficult.”

“You don’t need their names to solve this case.” Keith snaps, “Lotor and I can identify the victims without giving the feds free real estate.”

“And what about their families?” Shiro asks, “They can’t claim the bodies without identification. They don’t even get to bury their own daughters.”

Keith’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t reply.

“Is that what you do, Keith? Once people are useless to you, you just leave them behind?” Shiro stands up, prepared to retire to his room for the evening and get a hold of Pidge. Keith isn’t even looking at him anymore, eyes cast away and shoulders tense. Shiro sighs and turns towards his bedroom.

“What do you know about being left behind, Shiro?”

Shiro almost doesn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around, but the quiet, haunted tone gives him pause.

Keith is looking at him now, face guarded, “What do you know about abandonment?” He tsks softly, “You were raised with a good family and given everything you needed to get you through life without a hitch.”

Shiro can’t deny that but -

“I’ve been abandoned before.” Shiro says softly. Memories of Adam and wanting Shiro to quit his job and:  _ be softer, stop working all the time, when will I be enough, I can’t do this with you anymore _ \- flash like an old photo reel, “It may not be the same, but I know what it feels like.”

“I was raised on the streets.” Keith snaps, “I escaped the foster system. No one  _ wanted _ me.” He puts a hand to his chest, “The people I hire are like me. They’re used to being abandoned, to being invisible and left behind. I know you looked into Romelle and Narti and Axca. You know where they came from.”

Shiro lowers his eyes to the floor.

“And if you think for one second, that I wouldn’t make damn sure to claim their bodies and return them to their families, then you aren’t looking close enough at  _ me _ .”

“You don’t let me close enough.” Shiro hisses.

“You’re a cop.” Keith snarls, “You will  _ never _ be allowed that close.”

Shiro’s throat burns, “Close enough to fuck though. Close enough to risk my entire career for a few orgasms and your charming penthouse in the sky.”

Keith’s face twists into something ugly, “Get out of my sight.”

The anger is palpable in the space between them and Shiro suddenly feels like all the progress he’s made is now gone. Poof. 

Like smoke. 

He retreats to his room and sinks into the end of the bed. 

He’s suddenly exhausted and ready to return to his empty apartment and his empty life.

At least in that quiet space he didn’t have to worry about company or stepping on broken glass all of the time. He wasn’t good enough with emotions to handle the raw sewage bubbling between them right now. In fact, he shouldn’t even be upset about this at all.

Keith is a criminal and Shiro shouldn’t give a damn about what he feels or what he went through.

Except, he does.

Keith is unlike any criminal Shiro has ever come across before and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Not telling the feds about the drug. Lying to his superiors about Keith’s motives. Lying to  _ Keith _ about the murders.

He’s already digging himself too deep.

He just needs to stop himself before he can’t climb out of that hole. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Shiro wakes to a text from Pidge with a detailed list of what ingredients she could identify in the Quintessence. It’s only an estimated guess, based on chemical composition. The mixture is unlike anything she’s ever seen before and she’s no lab tech, so at best her list in an educated guess.

Shiro will take that for now.

He writes the list down on a notepad on the bedside table, then goes into the bathroom to get dressed for the day.

He almost doesn’t bother, there’s no telling whether Keith will want anything to do with him after their clash last night.

He’s still straightening his tie when he steps out of the bedroom just as Keith exits his own. He’s dressed down in a faded red and black hoodie and dark wash jeans. There’s a black beanie covering his head and an expensive pair of sunglasses perched in the fabric.

“Change.” Keith orders.

Shiro pauses in the tightening of his tie, “Uh - what?”

“Change into something else.” Keith pauses, clears his throat, “Please.”

Shiro perks up a little at the ‘please’, “Just something casual?”

Keith nods, “And it’s cold. So. A jacket too maybe.”

“Okay.” Shiro backtracks into his bedroom as Keith’s footsteps disappear down the hall and into the living room. He takes off the stuffy suit, then pulls on his old leather jacket and a pair of comfy slacks before joining Keith out in the main room.

There’s already a car waiting at the curb when they exit the lobby. Keith is quiet for the ride, elbow resting on the window and staring out at the passing buildings.

Shiro fiddles with his phone, still waiting on more information from Pidge and Matt. He casts his gaze in Keith’s direction every so often, unsure of what to say or ask. There’s still an undeniable bitterness between them that leaves a sour taste in Shiro’s throat.

There’s also a strong urge to apologize, but Shiro refuses to apologize for doing his job.

Instead, he chooses to remain silent.

The ride is a long one, Shiro watches as the nicer part of the city bleeds into the outskirts. The buildings grow tattered, exhausted from time and lack of care. There are rusted carts filled with trash, cans, and clothes. People are curled up on the street corners, hiding in alleyways.

Shiro’s no stranger to the uglier parts of the big city. He had to start somewhere as a cop, so the sight is familiar and brings back nasty memories that make the ruined skin of his shoulder twinge. He resists the urge to massage it.

“Where are we?” Shiro asks quietly.

Keith leans forward and taps twice on the divider between the backseat and the driver. They take two quick lefts before pulling into the tiny, cracked parking lot of a red brick building. It’s considerably nicer than the buildings surrounding it, but still old enough that Shiro’s sure it could be an original of the area.

There’s a basketball court on the left, with one goal post and a handful of teens throwing a ball around. Some are leaning back into the chain fence surrounding the area, some are smoking on the outside.

There’s a sign above the double doors of the building that reads ‘Garrison County Home for Teens’.

Shiro’s chest tightens with realization.

“You lived here.” Shiro croaks.

“Till I was 17, yea.” Keith replies, “But we’re not here to relive my shitty past.” He climbs out of the car and Shiro follows.

A few of the kids on the court shout out a laughing, ‘ _ Hey, Keith’s back _ ’ as they pass to the doors.

Keith throws them a wave with a gloved hand, but doesn’t stop to engage in conversation. The kids don’t seem to care either way. They return to their activities as though nothing happened at all.

Keith opens the door, the hinges creak as he does so and a frown mars his brow. He jiggles the door open and closed a few times, it makes the same sound.

“Don’t you even think about it, I already bought WD40.” A crackling voice laughs ahead of them.

Keith scoffs, “Or we could just replace them.”

A hand slaps out across Keith’s and he hisses and jerks it back, rubbing it with the other hand.

An older woman smirks down at him, dressed in a casual blouse and pants ensemble. Her brown hair is greyed at the edges and temples, face sharp and lined with age. She gives Keith and endlessly fond stare, then casts a curious glance towards Shiro.

“What brings you here today?” She hums.

“Just my usual donation to the home.” Keith grumbles, digging around in his hoodie pocket and pulling out a half-folded white envelope.

Shiro’s hand twitches.

The woman’s face falls, “Keith - I can’t keep -.”

Keith shakes it at her, “Take it, Ryner. Please.”

Her shoulders slump and a sad smile replaces the frown as she takes the envelope between her fingers, “Can you at least stay for a bit? You never bring company.”

“Jiro is just a bodyguard.” Keith mumbles.

Ryner’s eyebrows lower into a scowl, “Since when do  _ you _ need a bodyguard?” Her stare levels on Shiro.

Shiro clears his throat awkwardly.

“Are you in trouble?” Ryner hisses, “Keith -.”

“I’m not in trouble.” Keith says, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be back next month.”

Ryner points the envelope at Keith, “Don’t you lie to me. You couldn’t do it at 13 and you can’t do it now.”

“Ryner -.”

“Don’t you ‘ _ Ryner _ ’ me.” Ryner slaps him on the nose with the paper, “Are you in trouble?”

“I’m always in trouble.” Keith flicks the envelope out of his vision, “It’s just a -.”

“If you say the word precaution one more time I’m ripping this check up.” She snaps and turns on Shiro, who flinches, “How about you?”

“Uh -.” Shiro flounders.

“I’m not telling you anything.” Keith steps between them, “And neither is he. I can’t risk your safety like that. I’m just here to drop this off and see how everyone’s doing.”

Ryner looks as though she wants to continue the fight, but her shoulders relax and she shoves the envelope in her back pocket, “Everyone is doing fine. How about you go see for yourself? I’ll get us some drinks.”

Keith nods and back peddles out into the parking lot. Shiro moves to follow.

“Oh, Jiro.” Ryner smiles, “Would you mind helping me with the sodas? The ice chest is kind of heavy.”

Shiro looks to Keith, who scowls suspiciously for a moment before shrugging and turning away.

Shiro turns back to Ryner with a polite smile, “I’d be happy to.”

He follows her into the home. It opens immediately into a large living space filled with mismatched couches, chairs, a battered pool table in the back. There are shelves of books, two tvs, boxes of cards resting on table tops. The walls are painted with a kaleidoscope of graffiti and modern artwork, some spots are still unpainted.

Ryner leads him down a hall and into a spacious, industrial kitchen. The sink is empty, but there’s a horde of drying dishes to the left of it. The scent of breakfast still lingers in the air as Shiro watches her dig out an old ice chest from a pantry closet.

“The sodas are in the big fridge.” She waves to a large silver door, “I’m going to grab a bucket of ice from the deep freeze.”

Shiro does as he’s told, popping open the large door and loading the ice chest with assorted knock-off brand canned sodas and juices.

“How long have you been working for Keith?” Ryner asks, coming through a side door carrying a bucket.

“Few months.” Shiro replies, taking the bucket from her and dumping half of it over his first section of cans.

“And yet this is the first time he’s brought you here.” She huffs, “Odd.”

Shiro shrugs, “He likes his own space. I can’t be with him all the time.”

“Isn’t that what a bodyguard is supposed to do?” She asks airily.

Shiro slows in the moving of soda to chest, “Yes - but Keith is - complicated.”

Ryner barks out a laugh, “That’s an understatement. That boy.” She shakes her head, “Nothing but trouble, but I wouldn’t be here without him.”

“He donate a lot?” Shiro inquires, pouring the rest of the ice over the drinks and hefting the chest up between his arms.

“Oh, too much sometimes.” Ryner sighs, leading him back out into the hall, “But it keeps this old place afloat. He’s got a soft spot for us, despite the fact that he was rarely ever here.”

Shiro frowns and she sends him a sad smile, “Always on the run. Always afraid of being in one place for too long. Fight or flight was his motto.”

“That sounds like him.” Shiro murmurs.

Ryner steps between Shiro and the front door. His hackles rise at being cornered with a heavy ice chest in his arms and no way to look to Keith for help.

“I’m not going to keep prying about why he suddenly needs you at his side.” Ryner’s voice lowers dangerously, “But I am going to warn you that should anything happen to him due to your negligence - Keith’s people will be the least of your worries.”

Shiro swallows, unsure of how to reply. He could tell her that Keith will always be safe with him - but only because it’s literally Shiro’s job to make sure he’s delivered in cuffs to a federal prison when this whole mess is over with.

“So you know what he does.” Shiro says instead.

“Of course I do.” Ryner scoffs.

“Are you not upset that he turned to a life of crime?” Shiro’s brow furrows, “That doesn’t bother you?”

“He’s alive, isn’t he?” Ryner’s voice is sharp, defensive, “He’s not dead in a ditch somewhere or in prison.”

_ Not yet _ , Shiro thinks sullenly.

“If he’s happy and he’s alive, then it’s not my place to force him one way or another.” Ryner finally opens the door, “All I can do is nudge them towards the right path as they come and go from my home, I can’t force them to take it.”

Shiro follows her to the courtyard, where Keith is surrounded by a bunch of teenagers all in various states of dress. Some nicer than others, but all clean, all healthy. Keith doesn’t show much on his face, but he answers questions as they bounce around him, high fives one of the smaller girls before she heads off along the sidewalk.

Shiro sets the ice chest down.

“Drinks.” Ryner calls out, “Then whoever has jobs needs showers, lunch is in two hours.” She claps her hands twice and the group around Keith disperses and makes for the ice chest at Shiro’s feet.

“You’re fucking huge, man.” One of the boys pops the tab on a mellow yellow.

Shiro flushes, “I work out?”

“Keith never brings  _ friends _ .” Someone’s eyebrows wiggles.

Keith scoffs, “He’s not that kind of friend.”

“Sure.” A few of them laugh and scatter with their respective sodas.

Keith reaches down for a drink, eyes watching Ryner as she talks to a few of the other teens, “What did she want?”

“I feel like she gave me the shovel talk.” Shiro scratches the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

“Really?” Keith’s eyebrows go up.

Shiro shrugs one shoulder and turns to watch the kids return to their basketball game. Ryner makes the rounds, tugging on a few ears and pointing in the direction of the home. Shiro feels himself smile a little.

A cold can presses to the base of his neck and he yelps, hand flying up to pull it away.

Keith holds out a soda.

It feels like a peace offering.

Shiro takes it, rolls it in the palm of his metal hand, “Why did you bring me here?”

“I do care about my people.” Keith murmurs, stepping closer to Shiro, “Most of them came to me from here. I’m not going to just leave them in a morgue somewhere without returning them to their families.”

Shiro heaves a ragged sigh, “Keith, we can’t turn them over without next of kin. It’s why the feds are asking for it.”

“Romelle will handle that.” Keith says, “I’ll give you whatever you want at the end of this. Money. Weapons caches. Drop offs. Mule runs. Even my top generals. But I’m not handing over their  _ families. _ ”

That kind of loyalty should not tug at Shiro the way it does.

But oh - it does.

“You’ll never be released.” Shiro whispers, “You’ll be in prison for the rest of your life.” His fingers bend the metal of the can, “Do you know how many bosses would hand over hundreds of names just to ease their sentence?”

“I’m not them.” Keith says.

_ No _ , Shiro thinks as Keith turns away to give Ryner a farewell,  _ no you are not. _

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Shiro is a conflicted mess of emotions as they take the elevator up to Keith’s apartment in the sky. He’s trying not to mix the cold blooded weapons dealer with the soft man who just donated a few thousand dollars to a home for wayward teenagers. They’re two seperate people.

Keith the orphan and Keith the leader of one of the most powerful syndicates this city has ever seen are not one and the same.

They can’t be.

Shiro can’t  _ allow _ them to be.

Because that means Keith’s loyalty is something to be feared. It means there’s a chance Shiro is going to lose traction on this case and everything he’s worked for his entire life will be thrown out the window because he looked at a criminal with blood on his hands and went  _ soft _ .

“Any news from your duo on the inside?” Keith asks as they step out of the elevator.

Shiro pulls his phone out of his pocket to check, “Nothing yet. I do have a half-assed ingredients list for Quintessence.”

Keith’s eyebrows go up, “Define half assed.”

“As in Pidge isn’t an actual scientist, she’s a tech wiz and she did the best she could without going through official channels.”

“Fair enough.” Keith nods, “Anything from your bosses?”

“Only that another body was found two nights ago, but since there’s no burn, they’re assuming it’s an unrelated murder.” Shiro watches Keith pull a bottle of aged scotch from his liquor cabinet. He leans it towards Shiro in question.

After the last few days Shiro’s had? The check-in with Reynolds? The fight with Keith? Keith showing him a glimpse of his old life?

“Yea.” He could use a goddamn drink.

Keith pours out a finger into two separate glasses and pushes it across the bar towards Shiro, “Ultraviolet or something else?”

“Matt’s trying to sneak a peek at the coroner's report.” Shiro takes a slow, careful sip.

The burn of alcohol is welcome and it settles warm in his belly as he relaxes into the edge of the bar.

“Axca is thinking it’s a group of about four.” Keith swirls the liquid in his glass.

Shiro frowns, “Which means the guy Axca shot was one of them. Leaving three.”

“I’m thinking they’ll replace him soon enough.” Keith pulls a face, “And if this recent murder is another one of mine? Or Hira’s? It means the loss of one of their own didn’t stop the clock on whatever the fuck they’re trying to achieve.”

Shiro stares down into his glass for a moment, “Have you considered the possibility that this is an inside job? Trying to take each syndicate down?”

He can feel Keith’s eyes burning into him the second the words finish leaving his mouth.

“You say possibility, but you sound sure.”

Shiro’s fingers tighten on the glass before throwing the rest of the scotch back. He meets Keith’s gaze across the counter, “What if you’re just the first rung on this persons ladder?”

“You mean someone is trying to eliminate all the powerhouses? Starting with me.” Keith’s eyes narrow, “You think - what - this is some kind of declaration of  _ war _ ?”

“It already is a war.” Shiro says, “The body count speaks for itself. Most of them are yours. But with if the others are just a convenient way to kink the hose?”

“And the drug? Being sold by  _ my _ people and with my name on it?” Keith hisses.

“Obviously this drug is powerful. It works in stages. It’s almost like a possession. They could be using it as an amplifier.” Shiro throws out a hand, “Pinning the drug distribution on you and using your own people as guinea pigs is just another way to take you down quicker.”

“Using the law.” Keith spits out, “Fuck.”

“They’re leaving clever fingerprints for the feds to find.” Shiro whispers.

Keith is quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment, “What a convenient silver platter that is for you, huh?”

Shiro bristles, “You being the first one is just part of it. The murders won’t stop once you’re behind bars. Whoever is doing this will move right on to the next rung of the ladder.”

Keith stares over at him suspiciously, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Shiro drops his gaze to the side.

He hears the gentle connection of glass against counter, then the shuffle of shoes across the kitchen floor.

Keith appears before him, dragging Shiro’s gaze to his own.

He looks too much like a normal man in the civilian clothes. There’s no leather. No pressed suits. No perfectly slicked back hair. Just Keith in a hoodie and a beanie and looking up at Shiro with his mouth set in a determined line.

“You’re not supposed to tell me that,” The tips of Keith’s fingers are cool as they take Shiro’s chin in hand. A thumb glides along Shiro’s jaw and it finds a resting place beneath his ear, “Are you Shiro?”

No.

Shiro is supposed to keep it to himself.

Pidge insisted. Matt insisted. Reynolds would have his job if he found out.

“We can’t solve this if I’m holding information back from you.” Shiro replies, trying to ignore the burn Keith’s fingers leave behind.

“That’s not the _ real  _ reason.” Keith’s voice is all smoke and ash.

“I just don’t want to drag this on any longer.” Shiro hardens his tone, tells himself to step back and away and out of Keith’s space, “Too many people are dying and the cause isn’t even worth dying for.”

“None of my people went into this world blind, Shiro.” Keith strokes the soft spot under his ear. It sends a shiver down Shiro’s spine, “Not who I hire and not the families they brought into it. They all know the risk and the reward.”

“Death and money.” Shiro scoffs.

“The two most powerful things on the planet.” Keith smirks, “Well, those and one other thing.”

Shiro furrows his brow, “And what would that be?”

Keith’s smirk curls into something sensual and hot and awareness drags across Shiro’s skin in a heatwave. The fingers holding his jaw drag him down until their mouths mesh together and Shiro is helpless to resist. He sinks into the kiss, unthinking and yielding far too easily.

He misses the scotch warm tang of Keith’s mouth the second they part.

“Take me to bed, Shiro and find out.”

There’s a distinct lack of warning bells as Shiro soaks in the words. There’s no voice telling him it’s a bad idea to do anything else with Keith. All he hears is Keith’s slow, steady breathing and the sound of his own heart racing after that kiss.

There should be warning bells.

It  _ is _ a bad idea.

But Shiro already has Keith lifted up against his chest, long legs wrapped tight around his waist and a fever hot mouth devouring his own.

Besides, the throaty sound of Keith moaning around his tongue would have been enough to drown out any sound in Shiro’s head.

  
  


-

  
  
  


Shiro deposits Keith into the center of his big bed after a slow, parting kiss and a squeeze to the ass being held up by his hands.

Keith lets out a whoosh of air as he melts into the mattress, hands dragging his hoodie up and over his head while Shiro shucks his jacket and shirt.

He crawls into the space between Keith’s legs and dives right back down to continue where the last kiss left off. Keith’s body arches into Shiro’s, tiny hands pawing at his naked arms and mouth feverish as it glides with Shiro’s own. He’s already hard under Shiro’s stomach, thighs squeezing at Shiro’s sides.

There’s no doubt in Shiro’s mind what they’re about to do.

He sucks a path down Keith’s neck, sinks his teeth into the dip where neck meets shoulder and shivers when Keith cries out.

Those nimble hands card through Shiro’s hair, tugging at the roots, nails scraping over his scalp.

“Hurry -.” Keith’s voice comes out a wrecked, “Shiro -.”

Shiro pauses above Keith’s belly, mouth open after dragging his tongue in a wet line down the center of his chest, “Already?”

Keith hisses, cock hard as he grinds it against Shiro’s chest, “I don’t need fancy shit, Shiro. Just get inside me.”

“Do you have everything we need?” Shiro murmurs into his belly button.

Keith nods, throwing a hand out and waving it frantically at the table beside the bed. It boasts a lamp and a phone charger and not much else. Shiro gives a lingering, hot kiss where the dark trail of hair starts above Keith’s groin before pushing across the bed to get what he needs.

Keith drags him down into another searing kiss when he returns. Shiro soaks it up and doubles down and Keith whines into it.

Shiro bites into his bottom lip, then drags both of his hands down the pale, perfect length of Keith’s frame. His fingers make quick work of unbuttoning those sinfully black jeans before yanking them down Keith’s legs and tossing them and the underwear over his shoulder.

Keith naked is a sight to behold.

It takes Shiro’s breath away and all he can do is run a hand up the naked expanse of Keith’s leg in awe.

Keith is pale, flushed pink with arousal across his chest, his face, his groin. There are scars, some old, some new, some that look as life threatening as the bullet wounds Shiro carries near his heart.

He can’t help the soft, careful touch he gives to the wide, jagged dark line across Keith’s left side.

“It’s just a scar.” Keith pants.

Shiro drags his gaze up, “It’s never just a scar, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes go to the ruined flesh of Shiro’s shoulder, then down to the two puckered marks on his chest, then back to Shiro, “At least yours were for a cause worth nearly dying for.”

There’s a bitterness in the way Keith throws his own words back at him and if they weren't both naked and hard in Keith’s bed, Shiro would have something else to say besides, “Roll over for me.”

Keith’s eyes flare and his dick twitches into the dip of his belly.

He obeys without a fuss and Shiro doesn’t stop the groan he lets out as Keith’s perfect ass rises up to meet him.

Shiro gets up on his knees and makes quick work of shucking his own pants and underwear. He finds the lube and condom he’d pulled from Keith’s drawer, then smooths a soothing hand over Keith’s ass.

His blood burns as he dips a thumb in the crease, pulling one cheek back. Keith’s hole winks at him, pink and tight and all his for the taking. He rubs that same thumb over it and groans deep in his chest as it clenches around nothing.

Keith lets out a frustrated sound, “Are you going to fucking stare at it or fuck me?”

“Impatient.” Shiro murmurs, dragging the tip of his thumb over it again.

Keith’s whole body shivers.

Shiro drops a kiss to the delicate dip in Keith’s spine, then pops the lid on the lube and coats his fingers with it. He doesn’t use the metal hand - Shiro’s have enough sexual partners since receiving his arm that he knows it’s not at all attractive.

Plus, he wants to know what Keith feels like on the inside.

He squeezes some of the lube down the crack of Keith’s ass, watching his back flex from the sudden chill. Shiro rubs two fingers over his hole, teasing, spreading the slick around until he’s satisfied. Keith’s legs tremble with anticipation, then tense when Shiro glides his first finger in to the knuckle.

Keith lets out a shaky moan.

Shiro bites into his lip at the tight, searing heat around the tip of his finger, “Fuck -.” He sinks it in further, pulls it out.

Keith shoves back on it. It’s hot and it’s eager and Shiro slaps his ass.

“What the fuck?” Keith hisses.

“Be patient.” Shiro shoves his finger back in, earning a yelp.

He takes his time opening Keith up on his fingers. One turns into two, two into three. Keith writhes against the sheets, cock hanging between his legs. There’s a string of precum leading from the tip of his cock, to the sheets below and Shiro has to use all of his willpower not to dip down and suck at the tip to break the connection.

He focuses on get Keith ready for  _ his _ cock instead.

Keith is a mess by the time Shiro is ripping open the condom, “What is taking you so long? Goddamn it Shiro,  _ fuck me _ .”

Shiro slaps him again, this time harder and sending Keith’s tattooed back into a gorgeous arch, “Patience, baby. I’ll give you what you want.”

He uses his hand to guide the tip of his cock inside.

And if he thought spanking Keith got him a reaction, his entire cock filling Keith to the hilt gave him something even better.

Keith’s mouth drops open in awe, fingers twisting in the sheets beside his head. The muscles under his tattoo ripple and shift as his entire body tries to tense up against it.

Shiro doesn’t let him.

He glides a hand down Keith’s back until it presses between those gorgeous shoulder blades, grinding his cock as deep as it will go.

“Oh - ohhhhhh -.” Keith’s eyelashes flutter, “ _ Shiro _ -.”

“Good.” Shiro murmurs, feeling half drunk on the tight heat around his cock, “You took all of me so well.”

Keith clenches around him.

Shiro pulls out and slams back inside.

Keith shouts, nearly tearing the fabric under his hands.

Shiro curls his hand around the back of Keith’s neck. He runs his thumb along the delicate line of it, over a dark mark forming at the curve.

Keith twists his face up at Shiro. He’s flushed, panting, fucking  _ stunning _ as he opens his mouth but no words come out.

Shiro fucks him ruthlessly. Watching him gasp and squirm and scream into the sheets with every thrust.

It’s relentless, consuming, and hotter than any sex Shiro’s ever had in his entire life.

His name bleeds out of Keith’s mouth in garbled, fractured syllables. His own words come out rushed and just as messy. He tells Keith how good he is, how good he feels. It gains him soft whimpers and tighter suction around his dick.

“Are you close?” Shiro squeezes the base of Keith’s neck.

He can feel Keith nodding, can hear the strangled ‘ _ please - harder - shiro _ ’ repeating over and over.

Shiro never stops the frantic motion of his hips. Each one slaps against Keith’s ass, shoving the already wrecked man even further up the bed until Keith has to slap a hand against the headboard to keep his forehead from connecting.

Shiro knows the moment Keith comes.

The knuckles curled against dark wood turn white and his head drops down to the pillows and a ragged, gultral shout breaks free. It sends Shiro into a frenzy. He drags his nails down Keith’s back, then drops his hand between Keith’s legs to wrap around his cock.

Keith screams as Shiro gives it a slow, careful pump, fingers dragging over the tip to feel the remnants of his orgasm.

Keith tightens around him, body taunt and shuddering - and Shiro comes with a bitten off cry of Keith’s name.

It burns through him and leaves nothing but ash behind.

They both collapse into the sheets, chests heaving and bodies thrumming with adrenaline. Shiro turns his head to Keith, whose elbows shake as he pushes himself up. He crawls under the sheet they just fucked on, but doesn't look at Shiro.

“You okay?” Shiro asks.

Keith nods, “Yep. Thanks. Needed that.”

Shiro chuckles, reaching out with the urge to drag his fingers over Keith’s flushed chest.

He’s usually pretty affectionate after sex, but -

Keith tenses, hand snapping out around Shiro’s wrist, “No.” Shiro pulls his hand back.

Shiro hates the sting in his chest, “Oh.”

“We can fuck, Shiro.” Keith clears his throat, “We’re clearly attracted to each other, but we’re not crossing that line.”

“Right.” Shiro scoffs and rolls onto his back, “Enemies with benefits. No cuddling. Got it.”

Keith lets out a frustrated sound and rolls over onto his side, “It’s just sex, Shiro. Go to sleep.”

_ It’s never just sex, Keith _ , Shiro wants to say, but doesn’t.

He stares at the ceiling instead.

  
  


-

  
  


Shiro wakes from a dead sleep just shy of dawn.

He sits up in bed, Keith’s blankets pooling around his hips as the tiny, nearly imperceptible sound of footsteps in the distance tell him he was not dreaming. He throws back the comforter, feet hitting the floor quietly as he grabs his boxers and goes for the gun he hid in Keith’s table.

Keith stirs behind him, blinking blearily across the bed at him, “Shi -.” Shiro covers his mouth with a hand, pointing his gun to the door.

Keith tenses with awareness.

“Stay here.” Shiro murmurs.

He moves across the length of Keith’s room, finding the crack in the door and staring out into the hall. There are no shadows moving along the wall, but the sound of depressing fabric is unmistakable.

Someone is in Keith’s home.

Shiro doubts Romelle would be here so early nor would she make herself comfy on Keith’s sofa without coming down the hall banging pots and pans.

He looks over at Keith, still in bed and bathed in moonlight, watching Shiro with wary eyes.

_ If they want him, they’ll have to go through me _ , Shiro flips the safety off.

He slips out of the bedroom with practiced ease, making his way down the hall, sticking to the shadows. The living area looms ahead and with no lights and closed curtains, the area is nearly pitch black.

As he gets to the end of the hall, something clinks.

Ice against glass. The swish of liquid.

Shiro trains his gun on the sound, pulling back the hammer, “Identify yourself.”

“Now, now, Shirogane.” A familiar - thought to be long past dead - voice sends a chill down Shiro’s spine, “Is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

Shiro inhales sharply and something snaps behind him, flooding the room with artificial light.

“You’re supposed to be in Siberia.” Keith’s voice sounds irate.

“Axca called me back.” The person seated on Keith’s sofa looks nothing and everything like the woman who taught Shiro all she knew about being a good cop.

She’s older, hair shorn tight around her ears, and looking every inch  _ alive _ .

“ _ Krolia _ ?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the half-way point folks.
> 
> Get ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/theredpalaladin)!


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